The Stages of Grief
by DellaVie
Summary: Sam had someone to help him through the loss of Dean, someone who too had just lost a brother - Dean Winchester.
1. Stage 1

**Summary: **Sam had someone to help him through the loss of Dean, someone who too had just lost a brother - Dean Winchester. Stargate SG-1 cross.

* * *

Stage I - Denial and/or Isolation  
(a.k.a. _Avoiding the Problem by Escaping to Another Reality_)

* * *

"Colonel, are you sure you want to do this? I understand that you may be experiencing a rough time recently, with the loss of your brother." General Hammond considered the young man in front of him, a touch of concern shining through.

Standing behind Hammond's desk, Colonel Winchester's reply was immediate. "I'm fine, sir."

"You better be. Make no mistake, it's not easy losing family, but I cannot afford to have you on the field leading a team unless you are 100% focused on the job." He softened a little. "Now son, I understand if you want to take some leave, there will be plenty of work for you when you get back."

"General, with all due respect, I am fine. I mean, yeah, it's not easy losing family. But me and Sam didn't talk much..." He trailed off, the implication of those words flickering regret in his soul. But it was only brief as he clamped down on the emotional leak. He'd have time to contemplate it later. Squaring his shoulders, he continued, "Besides, Doc already cleared me. And I want this mission, sir."

Nodding, the General turned his attention to the file in front of him. "Very well. I take it you have read your mission brief?"

"Yes sir, I have."

"Good. You are to join Major Stanson on Sub-Level 19; he will ascertain whether or not you are able to lead the team through the," he glanced down, "Quantum Mirror, without experiencing," another glance, "Entropic Cascade Failure. If successful, you will lead the new SG-14, which is comprised of Major Stanson, Captain Gate and Sergeants Talley and Wills through the mirror to a reality which has..."

By now he was practically reading the file, so Dean decided to help him out. "I think I can figure it out, sir."

General Hammond looked up at Dean and smiled appreciatively. "Very well. If all is successful, you have a go at 0900 hours tomorrow."

Colonel Winchester gave a nod in salute before taking his leave. When he reached the door, Hammond added, "Oh, and Colonel?" When he turned around, he continued. "Good luck. If our past experiences with the mirror are anything to go by..."

"We're going to need it?" Dean smiled wryly as he let himself out.

.-.-.

The Quantum Mirror was housed in an adapted room on Sub-Level 19. The mirror itself was situated to the left, in a small alcove in the wall, encompassing three of its sides in _n_th-feet thick concrete. Opposite it was a makeshift defence; a sandbag wall wherein two officers currently stood guard, a standing machine gun beside both of them, pointed at the mirror.

In the middle of the room was a table, at which three men sat playing cards whilst one made notes on the small device that sat in front of him.

"Attention!"

SG-14 immediately halted in their game of cards and scrambled to fall in. That is, until they saw who had ordered them. In which case Stanson and Gate rolled their eyes and resumed their previous activities (research and dealing the next round respectively). Talley and Wills, having never served directly with Winchester before, remained standing with a slightly confused look on their faces.

"At ease." He smiled good-naturedly at them and helped himself to the last available seat.

"Oh, please don't tell me we got saddled with your sorry ass again, Winchester." Gate dealt him into the round, a teasing smirk on his face.

"I think you mean, 'Oh, thank God we got saddled with your beautiful ass again, _Sir_." He picked up his cards. A four and a two, damnit.

"Actually, I don't think he did," Stanson replied earnestly, looking up from his notes with a most thoughtful of expressions.

"You best keep to that research Stanson, you're lacking considerably in the modern communication department." He nodded to the two who had yet to speak. "Dean Winchester."

"Sergeant Jake Talley." They shook hands.

"Sergeant Domonic Wills." More shaking.

"I take it you already know Bert and Paul?" They nodded. "Good. So what exactly is this screening process that I have to be cleared for?"

Robert Gate threw in come chips. "Oh, we gotta make sure you're dead." When Dean stared at him, he added, "Sir."

Finding no help, he turned to Stanson, who explained. "Each reality can only have one physical manifestation of each subconscious entity at a given time, otherwise entropic cascade failure occurs in attempt to rectify the situation; effectively removing the doppelganger from existence."

Dean folded and sent a glare his way. "Pauuul..."

"Only one you per reality. More than one and the universe tries to get rid of you. Apparently it's painful."

The look Winchester shot Stanson was very communicative, _Now, how hard was that? Really?_

Stanson smiled smugly for a second before continuing. "We need to make sure that the Dean Winchester in the reality we've been assigned to travel to has already died, otherwise you can't come."

"And we do that how?"

He nodded over his shoulder. "Well, we already have reports of such, but to be sure you have to go through the mirror and wait. If you start flickering out of existence, then I guess it means no."

Winchester followed Stanson's gesture to see that the room reflected through the mirror wasn't the same as the one he was currently in. It was slightly larger, and definitely not military. In fact, it looked like an elderly lady's living room. Soft coloured walls, flower-patterned couches and a bowl of plastic fruit on a hand-crafted coffee table. Winchester raised his eyebrows.

Gate followed his train of thought. "Yeah, it was originally in the old lady's shed - don't ask me how it got there - but she agreed to move it and help us out."

"Hunh. What's her name?"

"Catherine Langford."

He'd heard the name before. Oh right, the woman who helped get the program started. "So, I just sit there and have tea with an old lady until I die?"

Wills snickered at his commanding officer's choice of phrase. "In so many words."

"Right."

There was a silence. Stanson noticed his hesitation and supplied. "You have to touch the mirror."

"Right." Taking a breath, Colonel Winchester approached the mirror, as his team watched in anticipation.

When he was a foot away, he surveyed the extra perspective he could see from his new vantage point before knocking the mirror with two of his fingers. In a blink he was suddenly on the other side staring at his team, who were awaiting his reaction avidly. Fully satisfied with ruining their expectations, he merely shrugged and turned around. And blanched when he noticed a woman had appeared in the doorway, a tray in her hand.

He had his gun pulled on her before he registered the conversation he had less than a minute ago. "Miss Langford?" When she nodded, he sheepishly lowered his weapon. A glimpse in the mirror showed his team in pieces. He smiled politely at Catherine. "Dean Winchester, ma'am."

She didn't seem offended by the possible threat to her life. Taking it all in stride she smiled back. "I know."

"Would you excuse me a minute?" At her consent he leaned back into the mirror so that when he switched he was facing his team, eyebrow raised.

Crossing back was like flipping the mute switch. He could hear the laughter rumbling across the room and he let them get it out of their systems. "Having fun?"

"Yes Colonel Winchester," the inflection suggested that Gate was addressing his pre-school teacher.

Dean turned back. "I'll remember this, you know."

They could see his mouth moving through the mirror, but couldn't hear the words. Though they still managed to figure out the gist without the aid of a nuclear physicist. Stanson and Gate mocked deafness and Dean slowly presented his most favoured of fingers.

Until he realised that Catherine was still watching the exchange and froze. She laughed.

"It's quite alright, I've since grown accustomed to the military camaraderie that you share." She set the tray down. "I just finished boiling a pot of tea when you arrived; you have quite the impeccable timing."

He eyed the tea warily. Then the men who had not-so subtly tried to cover their snickers. And finally Catherine herself. "That's... great."

She smiled as though she understood completely "However if you would prefer something else, I could perhaps scrounge up a beer?"

_Oh, God yes_. "No drinking on the job, ma'am."

"Of course." When she noticed him contemplating the mirror again she added. "If it were to be turned off, they wouldn't know whether or not you're experiencing entropic cascade failure. It would also take quite a long time to locate the same reality again."

"So you're saying this thing goes to more than one reality?"

"Oh yes."

"Oh, great." He finally sat down on the couch, the plush cushioning threatening to envelop him in embroidered flowers. He looked around again, no more conversation at hand, and began to _thock _his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

Catherine, ever so observant, started to back out of the room. "Unfortunately entertaining inter-realitial guests doesn't mean that the chores will do themselves. If you'll excuse me."

He smiled gratefully as she left, the room lapsing into silence again.

_Thock_.

Fireplace, ornaments, an old-fashioned clock.

_Thock_.

Intricate wooden panelling along the entryways.

_Thock_.

A decorated porcelain lamp atop an antique wall-table.

_Thock_.

And a mirror to alternate realities resting at the end of the lounge. Yep, the typical home.

He noticed that the men had resumed playing cards and he felt rather left out. Reaching a decision, he walked back into the mirror, remembering to spin as he reached it, so that he was facing away from it when he went through.

Not breaking stride, he walked up to the table, and flicked Stanson in the ear. The Major looked up from his notes.

"How long do I wait?"

"It's hard to say. We can't tell if you keep switching back and forth. Though, we should know within a few hours."

He looked to the others. "And you've all been cleared?"

At their nods he turned around to make another trip through the mirror. "Good, pack up the cards and get over here."

There was a naive mischief to Gate's voice when he replied. "Oh, I don't think I should sir. My knee's been playing up on me again."

"That's an order, Captain."

Gate scoffed and Dean simply smiled.

When he spun around to cross over, Dean (still smiling), held up the deck of cards minus those in the players' hands. When he switched through, he resumed his earlier spot and cleared the coffee table. The others sighed and started to pack up their chips and join him. Stanson was the last; a flurry of paper as he approached the mirror. His eyes caught Winchester's, who slowly shook his head 'no', before sighing and dumping them back on the table. He did however grab the remote before following the others through.


	2. Stage 1a

Stage I/A - Leaving the Second Reality for a Third

* * *

"Major, get that mirror working!"

"Easier said than done Colonel!"

Ducking a staff blast, Sergeants Wills and Talley managed to close the door and barricade themselves against it.

"Any time now!" Talley called, his back pressed against the door in desperation. Their plan to stall wasn't going to hold long.

"Not helping!" Major Paul Stanson replied, his hands frantically twitching on the remote he held, causing the quantum mirror to shift realities sporadically.

It stopped on a dark unknown, with only a slither of the faintest light along the left-hand side which didn't provide any details of the world it contained. It was at this point that the door started to buckle.

Reaching a decision, the Colonel grabbed Stanson and shoved him into the mirror. His appearance on the other side caused him to stumble on the unknown before landing on the ground. The dimmed light was now across the room contained in the mirror, but still not enough to determine a location.

Without waiting for confirmation of a secure location, Winchester nodded to the two other members in his unit, covering them as they abandoned the buckling door and ran into the mirror. Rightfully so, as a second later the door burst open, revealing the Jaffa Teal'c holding a staff weapon in his hands.

Both sides wasted no time in firing and Teal'c went down, a bullet right between the eyes. But not before getting off his own shot that found its mark in Wills' lumbar. The force of the blast propelled him into the mirror, and Talley and Winchester wasted no time following him through.

When they appeared on the other side, a regiment of Jaffa entered their previous room intent on completing the work that their fallen leader had started. With an angry shout that they couldn't hear, they raised their weapons and fired at the mirror. The connection cut out.

Silence reigned when the connection was lost. When Stanson managed to click his flashlight on, each of them cast their eyes down at their comrade-in-arms.

When Wills gasped, they were jolted into action. Major Stanson knelt down beside him, with the Colonel looking on. A quick survey had Stanson saying everything with his eyes. _He was fucked_.

It didn't help when Wills managed to gasp out, "Colonel, I can't feel my legs."

"You're gonna be alright Wills, just hang in there." Pulling out his own flashlight, Colonel Winchester nodded to Talley, and they both looked around the room while Stanson tended to Wills. It resembled a warehouse - possibly a storage locker. Though some of the things stored rose questions;

A series of boxes, different shapes and sizes with indecipherable symbols etched onto them were in their immediate vicinity. In fact, the mirror they had arrived through was still half-encased in one such box; a smattering of crystals decorated the ground around it. Across the far wall was an armoury of sorts, with weapons ranging from a handgun to a rifle to land mines. To their left was a cage door, which they apparently were in. And when they exited into the main part of the locker, the objects seemed more random; an assortment of items lay on a table, and files were haphazardly stacked on top of filing cabinets. Knick-knacks and trinkets were strewn here and there.

Something shiny and noticeably less dust-ridden drew Winchester's attention and he moved over. He picked it up.

A... soccer trophy?

Dismissing how out of place it was, he quickly surmised one important piece of information. "We're still on Earth."

"No signs of Goa'uld invasion." Talley confirmed as he moved over to the only door in the room. "Just a lot of freaky occult shit." When he crossed over a sigil on the floor, a triggering was heard and the next thing they knew, he had a bullet hole in his shoulder.

The sound drew the others' attention and Stanson moved to help, having already propped a support under the barely-conscious Wills' head. Winchester held up a signal to stop, and checked for the source of the gunshot. He trailed the wire by Talley's feet to a shotgun directed at the doorway and managed to disable it before returning to Stanson and Talley.

"How's Wills?"

"He's still with us - barely," Stanson replied, helping bind the wound and sling up Talley's arm. His southern accent started to slip through as it often did when he was uncomfortable. "But he ain't gonna be floatin' like a butterfly no more, you get my meanin'."

A pained voice called across the room "Can still sting your ass like a bee."

This brought a much needed reprieve as they all snickered before looking to Talley. "I've had worse," he replied, making sure his arm was secure before slowly standing. After a few jokes were made about lobbing the sick people off together, Talley kept Wills company while Stanson and Winchester pried open the door.

As they made their way down the warehouse corridor, Stanson cleared his throat. His accent came through strong this time, "Colonel, we're up a mighty unfashionable creek."

"Don't worry about it Stanson, we'll get patched up and then you can fiddle around with that mirror to your heart's content as long as it gets us back to SGC."

"S'kinda why we're royally fucked, sir."

Their progress was halted when Winchester stopped to look at Stanson, who held out the remains of the quantum mirror's controller. It was at this point he realised the significance of the shattered crystals on the ground when he'd come through.

Running a hand across his face, he sighed. "Damnit Paul, can't you ever give me good news?"

"Chiefs beat the Redskins?"

"Thank God! Now first things first: we get Talley and Wills sorted and then work on how screwed we are."

Stanson nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

They looked down the empty corridor. "Stanson, you have no idea what a plan sounds like, do you?"

Taking the barb, he smirked. "Chiefs got reamed."

Dean smiled as they resumed walking. "Bitch."

"Sanders." Stanson nodded to the phone hanging on the wall.

"_Major_," Winchester retorted, the tone indicating that it was to be added as the title of the previous insult.

"_Colonel_," Stanson replied, matching him rank for rank, tone for tone.

Dean snickered as he picked it up and was thankfully met with a dial tone.

.-.-.

"Hello, is this Edgar Casey?"

Bobby looked towards the stairs and took a gamble. "Uhh, yeah."

"This is Dave Teak from Black Rock Storage. I'm afraid someone has broken into your locker again."

"Again?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. Look, I didn't call the police, because I remember you took care of it yourself last time."

"Right. Thanks." Bobby clicked the phone shut and headed back up the stairs to a door that had been closed for the past three days. Knowing the reaction, he didn't bother to knock. "Sam-"

Facing the far wall, he didn't turn to acknowledge Bobby, simply cutting him off, "Not right now, Bobby."

"Damnit Sam," Bobby barged in. When he had rounded the bed, he saw that Sam was staring at a photo. Bobby let his train of thought leave the station when he glimpsed the person in said photo. It was Dean.

He was standing in front of the Impala, looking about eight years younger and irritated. One hand was on the door handle; he was obviously about to enter when something called him back. His features were creased in a frown, the way Dean did when he was unhappy with the situation.

Soundlessly, Sam handed the photo over. When Bobby looked on the back, there were three words written in a scrawl;

_"Take care, Sammy."_

I'd just had told Dad I was going to college." Sam sniffed. "We had a fight. He said not to come back.

"Dean was waiting by the car. He drove me 400 miles to Stanford. He wasn't happy about it, but he did it anyway." He swallowed. "I took that picture after he dropped me off. It didn't matter that he wasn't smiling, I just...

"When things got tough, I'd look at that and know that he'd come if I needed him, y'know? That no matter what time or reason, there'd be someone who'd come."

When he reached the end, Sam finally looked up. Amid the tears and red-rimmed eyes, Bobby could see the desperation shining through; hoping that he'd understand. And he did. _He's my brother, and he's gone._

Bobby sighed. "Aww hell Sam. You don't think I'm sad that he's gone too? 'Course I am. You two are the only family I got. But I can tell you that Dean wouldn't want you mopin' around up here. He'd want you out livin' your life." However, even Bobby realised that Sam merely forgetting his brother and returning to college seemed on the other side of impossible. So he compromised, "Hell, at least doin' _something _instead of turnin' my room into an angst-hole."

Sam smiled faintly. "Yeah Bobby? Like what?"

"Well for starters you can do something about that storage unit of yer father's. Seems it got broken into again. Now, you and I are goin' down there and movin' all those curse boxes outta there 'fore someone gets ahold of something a whole lot worse than a rabbit's foot."

"You don't need to come along Bobby, I can handle this myself." He made his way over to his bag, ensuring it was still packed.

"The hell you don't," Bobby scoffed. "I'm comin', and it ain't just 'cause I'm concerned about ya. Last time you rushed in and almost got yourself dead. You pull that again and it means I'll have to come and finish toting all those boxes on my own. Thanks but no thanks, I'm coming with." He turned to leave, satisfied that Sam was doing something productive. "And don't be takin' forever to pack all your beloveds. I'm not expecting to be there longer'n a day."

With that, Sam dropped the shirt he'd picked up off the bed right back where he found it and followed Bobby out of the room.


	3. Stage 1b

Stage I/B - Realising You Can't Run Far Enough

* * *

Wills didn't make it to the hospital.

When Winchester and Stanson pulled up in the taxi that had driven them to St. Joseph's, they were greeted with a sullen-faced Talley who passed on the news.

Needing some time to regroup, Colonel Winchester sent Stanson to accompany Talley into hospital to get his shoulder stitched whilst he found a phone booth and tried again to make the second call he had at the storage unit, but with different results.

"_I'm sorry, but the number you have dialled is unavailable at this point in time. If you-_"

No such luck.

Sighing, Dean ran a hand through his hair and tried another number. (It started with a P and had something to do with five-sided polygons.) After half an hour of run-arounds and repeating his name, rank and serial number he found out that he never was, and not looking to ever be, enlisted in the armed forces. He was about to be laughed off as a crazy until one of the people he was diverted to decided to run a check on him.

It was the slightly panicked way in which the paper-pusher on the other end gasped "_Oh, shit!_" That prompted Dean to hang up.

When the phone was a mere centimetre from the cradle, he reconsidered. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. Besides, he was kinda curious to know what kind of awesome he was in this reality to evoke such a response. He was fairly certain that it would be that he was dead and hence calling from beyond the grave, but he had to be sure.

With the phone back against his ear, he could hear some frantic shuffling and a distant voice ordering to "_keep him on the line!_"

"Uhh, Mister Winchester?" There was a definite nervousness to the tone.

Dean sighed again. "Look kid, put someone else on, would ya?"

Immediately the phone changed hands and Dean surmised that they were listening in. That wasn't good. He could only think of one reason why everyone would listen in and hop-to like that, and from the tremor in the other man's voice he doubted that it was because he was a famous actor or something.

He hung up just as a gravelled voice called his name.

.-.-.

When he joined the others, they correctly interpreted the look on his face.

"No luck reaching the SGC?"

"It doesn't even exist," he replied. "Or, it's got a different number in this 'verse. Oh, and we've got to be careful - I might be a fugitive," he added casually.

He turned away and started walking back to Black Rock, leaving two baffled soldiers with raised eyebrows in his wake.

"A fugitive?" Talley echoed, struggling to catch up with his arm in a sling.

"You? Never." A suspicious person might think Stanson was being sarcastic. So would an observant one.

Winchester just clipped him on the head and kept walking.

"Uhh, Colonel? Where are we going?"

"Back to that locker so Stanson can get that mirror fixed and get us the hell outta here."

Stanson interjected. "I already said, without the remote, we're fubared."

"Look, this universe-"

"Reality," Stanson corrected.

"Whatever," Dean growled. "Point is, it must have its own remote, right? That mirror's the only lead we've got to finding it right now."

"Yeah, but we're not walking, right?" When Winchester stopped and stared incredulous, Stanson finished somewhat childishly, "It's thirty miles away."

Talley, who remained silent throughout the exchange, shared a look with Winchester that may have had something to do with marines and the air force.

"Plus, you did want a low profile, and this is kinda conspicuous." He gestured to their fatigues which were gathering curious looks from passers-by.

"What exactly do you suggest then, Stanson? Like I said, we can't exactly call a cab." Dean raised an eyebrow.

As Paul stopped to consider this, it was Talley that answered,

"Well, if you're already a fugitive..." He trailed off, and they followed his gaze to a car parked on the street.

Dean turned his incredulous look onto Jake, who merely shrugged.

Their silent banter was interrupted by a gasp from Paul, who had doubled over and was clutching his stomach. People stopped to stare as he flickered in and out of existence.

When the ECF attack passed, he straightened and looked Dean in the eye. "Colonel, I suggest we hurry."

.-.-.

_CLANG!_

Dean moved the bolt-cutters he'd found out of the way as Stanson removed the lock on one of the chests with obscure symbols etched all over it.

The lid peeled back to reveal a diadem resting on a statue of a limbless man whose mouth was open; screaming in silent agony. The men cocked their heads to the side in scrutiny.

"Nope," Dean announced, and moved to the next as Talley shoved the opened one away with his feet.

The next box was more of a case, and had a child-sized marionette in it. The third was a supply container, and for all its size seemed to contain was another, smaller box. Inside that was a snow globe.

It was when they had gathered around the fourth that they heard a gun cock.

"Now, you boys step away from the box all calm-like and I won't be splattering any of you on the walls."

They turned as one to find a bearded man in a cap. His face slackened for the briefest of seconds before he glared, the whole time his eyes were on Dean. A second later another figure entered the room, only to come to a grinding halt.

In the dim light both brother's Winchester stared at their supposedly dead sibling in surprise.

"Dean?" "Sam?"


	4. Stage 2

Stage II - Anger  
_(a.k.a Shooting the First Thing in Sight)_

* * *

There were many things you can say to a loved one when they're standing in front of you, despite the fact you've already attended their funeral. _What the hell is going on?_ is one, _you're supposed to be dead_ is another. Even starting with _how... _and trailing off was acceptable. Pulling a gun and growling, "You picked the wrong fucking face to wear," wasn't.

Sam wasn't going to let a pesky thing like that stop him though.

At the sight of the gun, the thing who'd stolen Deans' features widened his eyes. Not afraid of _Sam_ per se - more afraid of Sam accidentally shooting someone. _Right, like I've never held a gun before_.

"Woah, woah - put the gun down Sam before you hurt somebody."

Sam scoffed, letting just enough malice in his voice to let the imposter know that he wasn't buying it. "That's generally what guns are for."

Dean rolled his eyes at the remark and strode forward to disarm him.

Sam kept the gun trained on his 'brother' until he caught sight of the two men behind him. One was clenching the box and seemed to be flickering out of existence like a spirit, and the other-

**BANG.**

Dean spun around to see that Jake had yet another bullet in his recently-patched shoulder. Spirit-man, having recovered from his affliction, rushed to his aid. Dean turned back to his brother.

"The hell is wrong with you! You don't just go around shootin' people like that!"

Sam was about to tell him that it was only a shoulder hit and that he deserved much worse, when the words echoed in his mind, reminding him of the last time he was in this town. Only he was the one with the bullet in his shoulder. He wasn't too happy to realise who that implied he was in this comparison.

Dean used Sam's momentary distraction to confiscate his gun and empty the clip and chamber. He dropped the bullets on the floor and tossed the now useless gun onto a nearby shelf. When he looked up, he seemed to remember that Bobby had his rifle trained. Slowly Dean raised his hands in placation.

"Look, I can explain everything. It may sound crazy but you just have to trust me."

The experienced hunter didn't waver. "Start talking."

Checking on Jake, Dean explained. "Alright, this might not make much sense to you, but I swear it's the truth.

"We're from another reality."

Not missing a beat Bobby replied, "How did you get here?"

"Through the mirror." He gestured to the mirror that was standing in its own curse box along the far wall. "We just need to find the remote that comes with it, and we'll be gone."

Immediately Sam interrupted, trying to catch them off guard. "Oh yeah? And what am I doing in this 'alternate reality' of yours, huh?"

When Dean didn't reply, Sam was sure it was a ruse. Watching someone with his brothers' features gave Sam an insight into what was going on in his "brother's" mind. He could tell his exact thinking process. Right now, he was trying to find a way to answer. When he'd just about formulated a response, he stopped and reconsidered. Whatever it was, it was clearly something he didn't want to talk about; Sam knew _that _expression all too well.

Eventually he settled on a feeble "Not much," that didn't even fool Bobby.

He stood tall in the face of their open doubt for a good minute before he relented in a frustrated growl. "You're dead, okay? You died two weeks ago. Happy now?"

Uncomfortable silence reigned supreme after that statement. Well, as silent as a room could be when one of its' occupants had just been shot.

Sam studied his supposed-brother after that news. Yeah, possibly he looked a little downed at the prospect that his brother had died. But not enough to justify going to a crossroads. Not enough for it to really be _Dean_, no matter the reality. Sure Dean had told him that they didn't spend much time together in his little djinn-induced dream, and he could see the logic in that. But even if it they didn't converse regularly, he knew that Dean would be upset. Because he was his big brother; a man of uncategorised selflessness when it came to family. The fact that he went and made that stupid deal was a testament to that.

So no, Sam didn't think the person standing in front of him, who had shifted around a little and muttered a feeble, "you're dead," was really his brother. From any reality.

Sam decided to keep this little piece of knowledge up his sleeve until later. Didn't want them to know he knew, and all that.

"So, if yer from another reality, how is it yer friend's a spirit? He didn't come through right or something?" Bobby brought the conversation back, making sure every detail checked out before he even thought about lowering his gun.

As one they turned to said man (whom Sam had simply dubbed Spirit in lieu of a name), who sensed the attention and looked up from Jake's shoulder. "Huh?"

"They want to know why you've got that ECF thing going on. Remember to go easy on the geek, not everyone's fluent like you."

Spirit shot Winchester a look that questioned Dean's intelligence, and Dean replied in typical Dean fashion which made Sam feel a little jealous. That type of camaraderie was Sam's. Even if he was sure that it wasn't actually Dean it was still unsettling to see him get along with someone else in the same manner they had for years, all the while treating _him _like a total stranger.

It was like Sam had been replaced. And Sam wasn't sure he liked it.

Sam ignored what Spirit was saying and glanced at his brother. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't help it. He was bored, Sam could tell. And this kind of boredom only led to one thing. When Dean opened his mouth to make some kind of sure-to-be irritating noise, Sam cut him off-

"Dean."

Dean looked over at him and Sam sighed. Deans' features scrunched up in confusion for the briefest of seconds before he seemed to have a mild epiphany. Whatever he realised caused him to turn away.

Sam tried to focus on the actual problem at hand, but when his brother chuckled, his gaze found its way back to him.

Dean caught him looking and immediately lost his humour; turning away for the second time in as many minutes.

Sam wasn't happy with the implication that his own brother couldn't even look at him, and an uneasy feeling stirred.

"You can't just go opening curse boxes, you idjits! It's like throwing dynamite on a fire."

Glancing back to Bobby at his outburst, Sam made sure to keep his attention there and not acknowledge Dean when he retorted about the likeliness of that situation. Sams' eyes were trained on Bobby with the determination that one used to refrain from pushing that immortal 'don't push' button.

"Until it blows up in your face." Bobby countered.

Being the closest, he heard Dean mutter, "Well, yeah, _if_ it happened." It was petulant and sarcastic and too familiar for Sam to take. He hoped someone else would start talking.

When Jake started to speak, Sam amended that thought to be someone else that hadn't killed him. The look he shot Jake held no reservations on what he was feeling towards the man at the moment.

Jake seemed to pick up on it, as he trailed off mid sentence; "When you say 'curse boxes'..."

"He _means_ curse boxes. They're built to contain the power of the cursed object within." Not being able to look at Jake any more without wanting to shoot him again, he turned to someone else. Unfortunately an unconscious pull made that person his brother. It was like he couldn't win.

Dean was looking slightly confused. "But the mirror's not cursed." He looked to Spirit for confirmation, who nodded.

Jealousy niggled at Sam again. _He _was the one Dean looked to for facts. Slightly irritated, Sam ignored it and blurted something he probably shouldn't have. "Dad probably wanted to be safe instead of sorry."

"I'm sorry - Dad! As in... our dad! No way would our dad be keeping freaky occult 'curse boxes' in the middle of friggin' _no_where! Nice try, what else have you got?"

"Dean," _Damnit, stop calling him Dean!_ "Why do you think we're here? Do you think we like to show up at random storage lockers and filch curse boxes?" Come to think of it, they probably would if they thought it posed a threat. But the three before him didn't know that. Come to think of it they didn't seem to know anything a hunter or even a fugly should, and it was making Sam a mite frustrated. "No, we're here because this was Dad's friggin' nuclear waste dump that he never told us about, and now we have to move all these before someone else comes in and tries to STEAL SOMETHING ELSE!"

Sam huffed. His anger had culminated from everything that had happened in the last week that he'd tried to ignore. His father was dead, but he was still chasing after him - only finding out things two hours past the last minute, which was all Sam seemed to do when he was alive. Now his brother was dead and in Hell and some pale imitation was standing in front of him; all human and non-demonic and smart-assed and everything else that was Dean, but still Sam knew that he wasn't his brother. And hearing him speak didn't help the matter;

"Dude, chill."

"SHUTUP! YOU'RE NOT DEAN! JUST SHUTUP!"

Dean blinked. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and then narrowed, his tone was a barely-controlled anger that both Sam and Bobby knew all too well.

"Yeah? Well you ain't Sam either! I don't know who the hell you are, but you aren't my brother. He's a lawyer and he's married to some hot chick. He's not some gun-totin' psycho that goes around hoarding _'curse boxes' _in the middle of Nowheresville like some friggin' messed up SATANIST!"

He'd inched closer over the course of his tirade, and when they were nose-to-nose, Dean shoved him back. "So don't tell me I'm not Dean! YOU'RE the one who isn't fuckin' Sam!"


	5. Stage 2a

Stage II/A - When You Can't Hold it In Any Longer

* * *

"You picked the wrong fucking face to wear."

Seeing his wide-eyed, the-world-is-sunshine-and-kittens, dork of a brother with a gun kicked Dean out of soldier mode and into brother mode. "Woah, woah - put the gun down Sam before you hurt somebody."

When Sam replied, his voice was a menacing sneer that didn't suit him, even at his bitchiest. And Dean would know. Being the bigger brother, he had taken it upon himself to provoke such bitchiness out of him on numerous occasions. When he may/may not have hooked up with his prom date was one of them.

Even though his demeanour was a little cold, Dean knew that the person standing before him was Sam, albeit an alternate reality Sam, and therefore still his brother.

Confident that said brother wouldn't shoot him, Dean strode forward to disarm him, before Klutzboy accidentally set it off.

He was about halfway there when Sams' eyes skipped to the two people behind him. And before Dean knew it, he had pulled his aim off Dean and fired.

Spinning around, Dean saw that Talley had been shot in the same shoulder yet again. _This reality doesn't seem to like him much_, flittered through Dean's mind as Stanson tended to Talley for the second time today.

The wound only seemed to prove Dean right in his position that Sam shouldn't be looking at guns, let alone holding them. He looked back to him, a certain amount of incredulity in his voice.

"The hell is wrong with you! You don't just go around shootin' people like that!"

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but the words never came. Off in his own little world, Dean used that moment of inattention to relieve his brother of his gun.

Glancing down at it, he mused that it wasn't half bad; obviously not something a first-time gun wielder would buy. The phone conversation from what seemed like hours ago flittered through his mind, and Dean found himself wondering exactly what kind of family they were in this reality, where he was a fugitive and Sam was going around shooting people.

He put that train of thought on the backburner as he emptied the clip and the chamber before separating the weapon from its ammunition.

When he looked up, it was into the barrel of the unknown stranger's rifle. Slowly he raised his hands, because getting shot wasn't really on his list of plans for today. When no response -not even a blink- was forthcoming, Dean felt the need to clarify,

"Look, I can explain everything. It may sound crazy but you just have to trust me."

Still no blink. Apparently crazy wasn't a problem for them. "Start talking."

Or they didn't think what Dean had to say would be _that _crazy. After double checking that Talley was alright, Dean continued, "Alright, this might not make much sense to you, but I swear it's the truth." He paused, possibly for effect. "We're from another reality."

Still nothing. Didn't that guys' eyes ever dry out? "How did you get here?"

Dean paused a second. He was expecting a little incredulity, possibly some shock. Definitely not an instant reply. However, he did notice that the tone was slightly sceptic, so he supposed that was the most by the way of expression this guy offered. When all this was said and done, and if Dean wasn't dead at that point, he was going to challenge the haggard man to a round of poker.

Waving to the mirror, Dean offered a simple explanation, partly because confusing them wouldn't help, and partly because he didn't get around to reading all the technical aspects of his brief.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, his brother was interjecting, like he was trying to catch him out. He remembered the tone from when they were kids and Dean would be late picking Sam up from school. It took six months for Dean to actually slip up, and that was because Sam had finally figured out the right question to ask.

This Sam had obviously learnt that lesson too, because he knew the exact thing that would catch him off guard. "What am I doing in this 'alternate reality' of yours, huh?"

Dean almost blurted that there's no way Sam would or wouldn't know whether what Dean said he was doing was the truth, because he'd been here for two hours, and from what he'd found this reality didn't make a lick of sense to him. So why should his make any to the other Sam's?

Then of course, there was that other reason. The one where his brother is... he didn't really want to address that issue at the moment.

"Not much."

He looked up into their twin faces of doubt. _What? That's all you're getting. Deal with it._

...

...

...

_Don't..._

...

...

...

_Make..._

...

...

...

_Me..._

...

...

...

"You're dead, okay? You died two weeks ago. Happy now?"

He looked to his brother, hoping he got the message that this topic was officially over. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. It's one thing to tell someone that your brother's dead; it's another to tell said brother that they're dead. It's a whole paint can of absurd. Especially if he didn't drop it. I mean, how do you tell your dead brother that his death doesn't really affect you? You died - so what?

They're thoughts that exist only in the mind and the ears of other like-minded people. They have no place near the actual subject. Which is why people wait until the subject is actually _dead _before they think it. It's a callous truth and Dean feels a little guilty that the only reason he feels guilty is because he knows that it's callous, not that it's because it's his brother. But he can't feel any different. He was right in Hammond's office - they were never close, and he was fine with that. He was sure Sam was fine with it too. He had his own life; friends, wife... They never needed to talk about it.

And he doesn't need that to change that now. Or ever.

Looking away, Dean growled internally. This whole thing is bringing up thoughts he didn't need to have, especially on a mission. All because his dead brother was standing five feet from him. _What's dead should stay dead_.

Dean was drawn out of his _never-to-be-acknowledged _emo trail as The Bearded One started to speak. He missed the words, but from the look he gathered that it had something to do with Stanson. And there was only one thing up with Stanson at the moment.

"Huh?"

"They want to know why you've got that ECF thing going on. Remember to go easy on the geek, not everyone's fluent like you."

Stanson shot Winchester a look that suggested that they only person he thought wouldn't be able to understand was Dean, before he dumbed down Entropic Cascade Failure for the civvies. Dean was thankful for the return to the familiar, and true to form pretended not to notice as he looked about the room in mild curiosity, the boredom prompting his hands to swing and his tongue to the roof of his mouth-

"Dean."

He looked over to see Sam shooting him a look that suggested he knew exactly what Dean was about to do, and he wasn't impressed. It was in that moment that he realised that the person in front of him wasn't his geek brother, but his old drill sergeant. He stood tall and ready; dashed with a sprinkle of paranoia that was only present those who had lost dearly through bad experience. A soldier, not a lawyer.

The likeness standing in front of Dean wasn't his brother at all. And Dean wasn't sure he liked it.

He turned away from the unfamiliar familiar face and focused his attention back on the matter at hand. Stanson was now holding the sheltered remains and explaining how the remote worked to Sam's bearded companion, whom Dean surmised had long forgotten how to make any other expression except perpetual suspicion. The thought reminded him of when he was nine, and their family had gone to the carnival. Sam - back when he was still Sammy - had wanted to ride the rollercoaster with his brother, but was too short. He had pouted something fierce until Dad had told him that if he made that face long enough and the wind changed, it would be stuck like that. Ever the dunderhead, Sam had believed him and spent the rest of the day changing his face every five seconds.

Dean was going to do the brotherly thing and set him straight, but when he actually looked at Sammy, whose eyebrows were currently furrowed and his nose and mouth were scrunched up, he had started snickering and forgot all about it.

Dean chuckled at the memory until the sound drew the attention of the person in question. His eyes found his brother's and when he realised he couldn't liken the chubby-faced boy to the hardened man before him, he quickly sobered and looked away, an indiscernible feeling in his stomach.

It wasn't right. This 'Sam' wasn't his brother. And if was going to be stuck in an alternate reality with his brother, he'd rather that it actually _was_ his brother, not some unknown imposter with the same face. Hammond was right, he should have taken that holiday.

"You can't just go opening curse boxes, you idjits! It's like throwing dynamite on a fire."

"What, a big anti-climax?" Dean snarked.

When Beardy McSerious glared his way, Dean couldn't help but feel belittled, like he should have known better. _How the hell do old people perfect that look?_

"Until it blows up in your face."

"Well, yeah, _if_ it happened," Dean muttered.

"When you say 'curse boxes'..." Talley started, but trailed off when Sam looked his way. He wasn't too eager to get shot _again _today.

The hostility in his brother's reply confirmed thrice over that he wasn't the Sam he barely knew. Dean decided the best way through this debacle was to clamp down on all stray thoughts, ignore all the tones and focus on the words. When he got back he could deal with it.

_Curse boxes?_ "But the mirror's not cursed." He confirmed it with Stanson.

What Sam said next floored him. "Dad probably wanted to be safe instead of sorry."

None of this was adding up to a place Dean was happy with. Dean - fugitive. Sam - Murderer. Dad... occultist? Having spent more time with his dad than Sam, Dean was adamant that was one road he knew for sure was never going to be taken.

"I'm sorry - Dad! As in... our dad! No way would our dad be keeping freaky occult 'curse boxes' in the middle of friggin' _no_where! Nice try, what else have you got?"

As Sam talked, he seemed to grow more and more frustrated. But Dean got the distinct feeling that it wasn't entirely directed at him. Still, the last thing he needed was this to take a heated turn, because Dean was having a hard time keeping his thoughts in check at the moment. Everything had come bubbling to the surface, and when Sam finished, Dean's words were as much for him as they were for himself.

"Dude, chill."

This only seemed to make him angrier; "SHUTUP! YOU'RE NOT DEAN! JUST SHUTUP!"

Dean blinked at the ferociousness of the outburst, because he registered that his brother had just told him exactly what he was thinking. It didn't matter whether he was really Sam in Deans' eyes or not; the words had burned into his mind, and Dean felt himself losing his struggle to hold it all together.

"Yeah? Well you ain't Sam either! I don't know who the hell you are, but you aren't my brother. He's a lawyer and he's married to some hot chick. He's NOT some gun-totin' psycho that goes around hoarding _'curse boxes' _in the middle of Nowheresville like some friggin' messed up SATANIST!"

As each unbidden thought sprang out of him, Dean's anger at the entire situation mounted until he was barely a hair's breadth apart from Sam. Frustrated with everything that had happened and was happening, Dean placed all the blame on the man in front of him, and let it show by shoving him back with as much force as he could muster.

"So don't tell me I'm not Dean! YOU'RE the one who isn't fuckin' Sam!"


	6. Stage 2b

Stage II/B - Taking a Breath

* * *

"Awkwwarrrrrd," Stanson exhaled, his eyes shifting to his C/O for the expectant reprimand. It didn't come.

Winchester was busy staring at the floor, trying not to look at anyone, especially not his brother. His brother was doing the same thing, and the other fellow whose name Paul didn't know was checking on Sam.

Stanson looked over to Talley, who looked thirty-one flavours of freaked out (one had nuts). He was inclined to join him.

Winchester finally looked up from the ground, a hand scratching the back of his neck. "Found that remote yet Stanson?"

"Uhh, getting to it right now, Colonel."

"Talley, you dead?"

He glanced down at his shoulder. "Not yet."

"Good, help him."

Apparently Dean had simply chosen to ignore his brother and the scruffy but intimidating man toting a rifle behind him.

The latter of which didn't seem to like that, and decided to make his presence known.

"Don't touch that."

Stanson was amazed at the amount of disbelief, scorn and petty insult his commanding officer and long time friend could affect in one sentence. "Right right - 'cos it might be _cursed_, right? Just like the _mirror..._"

The elder opened his mouth to reply, but the sound that came out was distorted. Recognising it for what it was, Stanson braced himself against a nearby shelf.

The world started to shake, though from Major Carters' notes and first-hand accounts he knew it was only himself. What he felt next could only be described as chaos. Joints locked and relaxed concurrently, pain throbbed through him, but his mind rationalised it as numbness. He could see more than his eyes knew to process, and his mind was a swirl; mindlessly flittering from each new input of information, but never able to settle on one thought. A nagging instinct telling him that there was something he needed to know/_think_ _about_/see/**feel**/touch/_do_, but it was always just out of reach.

Then nothing. Then everything. All at once.

.-.-.

When he came to it felt like hours had passed. Though in reality it was only seconds.

Winchester had a hand on his shoulder and was peering intently in his eyes. "You okay?"

Paul coughed (though if asked he couldn't give a reason why), and forced a small smile. "Why Winchester, I didn' know ya cared."

If Dean noticed the twang in his accent, he didn't comment on it, as his hand dropped from Stanson's shoulder. "Bitch."

"Sanders."

"_Major._"

"_Colonel._"

Satisfied that Paul wasn't going to break down in front of him, be it in a literal or figurative sense, Dean turned to face the others.

"See, this is _exactly _why we need the remote. Stanson's gonna die unless we get him home - are you gonna live with that on your heads?" He turned to Sam. "Please, Sam."

Something had changed in the last few minutes, but being slightly disorientated by the ECF attack, Stanson had missed it. The paranoia in Sam's eyes had been replaced with wist; it seemed that he finally believed the person standing before him was actually his brother. Which meant that he also bought the whole alternate reality sh-bang as well.

Stanson didn't exactly know much about Sam Winchester. That is to say he didn't know anything about the man. Dean had mentioned a 'geek brother' once, and Stanson had been eating dinner with him when he received the news. But the distinct lack of a reaction to said news led him to believe that they were only brothers in the word, nothing more.

Then again, being an alternate reality, they could be BFF's for all Stanson - or heck, anyone - knew. Stanson wished he knew what he'd missed in those few minutes.

Returning to the here and now, he saw that Sam had yet to respond. Though if the look on his face was any indication, he was going to cave.

"Bobby...?"

So that's what his name was.

At Sam's imploring tone, Bobby finally lowered his weapon and replaced the safety. In virtually the same movement he managed to sigh, remove his cap and scratch his scalp before setting it back in its rightful place.

"Alright. First things first, we gotta seal up all the boxes you lot opened."

"Then how will we know which one it's in?"

"John took a picture of what's inside and stuck it on the bottom. If you idjits had bothered to look instead of bustin' them open willy nilly, you'd've known that."

It was so simple, Paul felt like punching himself. A quick glance in Winchester's direction and he was happy to know he wasn't the only one. He nudged the box before him with his foot, tilting it to see the picture underneath. An hourglass. Hunh.

Dean caught Stanson checking, and when he shook his head, gestured to the ones on the shelf. "Stanson, check those boxes for the remote. Talley, when you're done bleeding all over the place, you can give him a hand."

Talley rolled his eyes. "How considerate of you, Colonel."

"I'm a considerate guy."

Stanson imagined that the only reason Talley was helping him (as much as a shoulder-wounded person could lift heavy objects) was to keep him away from Sam, who was still shooting him the odd death glare while he had a brief, whispered conversation with Bobby.

Eventually they conceded Winchester's plan, and they too split up - Sam to Dean and Bobby came over to 'help' them. In other words; make sure they didn't try anything.

They perused the shelves, Stanson giving a brief description of the remote's size and appearance. In the background he could hear Winchester's snarky diatribe:

"Oh look, here's the _curse _box that has a _cursed _snowglobe inside. Quick, we better shut the lid before the _curse _turns us all into… friggin' chipmunks."

Stanson sniggered as he shook his head at the picture Bobby was holding up.

"I think I found it."

Stanson turned to Talley to see a small tackle box with a polaroid of the very remote they were looking for taped to the bottom. He let out a breath he'd been holding since the first ECF attack. Finally things were looking up.

He turned around to inform Winchester, but stopped when he saw them standing over the case that had the marionette in it. "Had", in the sense that it was now empty. Stanson felt the younger Winchester summed up the situation very succinctly;

"Shit."


	7. Stage 3

Stage III – Bargaining  
(_a.k.a. Tit for Tat_)

* * *

When Talley opened his mouth to comment on the silence, he got as far as "What..." before Bobby held a hand to silence him. He turned to Paul, who tilted his head in the direction of the people named Winchester. Sam had his head slightly cocked to the side, as though he was trying to hear something. And Dean looked just as equally confused as he felt.

"So guys, what's with the mime act?"

Dean's comment was met with an abrupt "Shh," from Sam, which sent his eyebrows soaring. Dean didn't take to being dismissed without reason by someone who didn't outrank him, so instead he raised his voice and repeated, "SO GUYS, WHAT'S WITH THE MIME ACT?"

Sam, who was scrutinising the corners of the room, scuffed the box in reply, hoping that Dean would get it. His attention was determined and patient and his stance held purpose. Dean's gun was perfectly trained in his hands, ready for the slightest–

_When the hell did he get my gun? _Dean looked down at his holster to see it was unclipped and empty. The comment died on his mouth, when he realised that would mean admitting that his gangly civvie of a prat brother being able to one-up him. Though, from the way he held said weapon and manoeuvred about the room, Dean was starting to rethink the civilian aspect of that description.

Instead he said. "Come on Sam, you can't really tell me the puppet got up and walked away."

Having not found anything in the immediate vicinity, Sam lowered the gun and sighed. "No, it just turned invisible."

"Cool."

Sam glared at Dean.

"Hey, it's more believable than a living puppet."

"And is that more believable than alternate realities?"

"...No."

"Dean," Sam was exasperated. Dean was being stubborn and they both knew it. It was a well-worn path they had both walked down before, and the memories it was stirring caused them both to look away.

"Okay, say this marionette was... alive," Stanson postulated, "What kind of impact are we looking at by letting it loose?"

Bobby and Sam shared a worried glance.

Talley saw it and misinterpreted. "It can't really turn us into chipmunks, can it?"

He was ignored.

"We don't know," Bobby said at length. "But John wouldn't've put it in a box without good reason. So we find it and put it back 'fore we get the chance to find out."

Dean considered the situation. Yeah, they could track down a puppet. After all, it couldn't have gotten far.

Stanson flickered out of existence.

_Oh, right. That._ "Stanson, you get that mirror working. Talley, cover Stanson. And I'll..." He couldn't believe he was actually saying this, "Go hunt down Sid."

Stanson looked at him. "Sid's a dummy."

"So?"

"So, the thing in the case was a marionette. It's more like... Pinocchio."

"Evil Pinocchio," Sam added, a slight tinge colouring his voice.

"A maria... I don't know you." He turned to Sam and held out his hand.

A beat, and Sam returned Dean's gun. He then retrieved the pieces of his own that Dean had scattered amongst the locker.

Dean watched Sam reassemble the weapon proficiently. "So, uhh... you do this sort of thing often?"

"About once a week," Sam replied. "Usually on a Thursday." He spared a glance in Dean's direction. "Your fault."

"What? My fault? How can it be my fault? I'm not even..." _from this universe_. That's what he meant to say. But somewhere between his brain and his mouth something got lost in translation. What he ended up saying was "Alive."

Sam paused, his voice was unnaturally even. "What makes you think that?"

"Stanson's got the flickers because the universe can't handle two of him. It hasn't happened to me or Talley yet, and it doesn't exactly take a degree in astrophysics to figure out why."

Sam nodded and turned away to check in a cabinet. Dean covered him.

It was empty.

As Sam shut the doors, Dean spoke up. "Hey, what hap... I mean, can I ask-"

"You were torn apart by hellhounds."

Dean stopped short. "Hellhounds?"

"Yeah. Hounds, from Hell." Sam moved onto the locker nearby, not meeting his eyes.

Dean considered it. "That sounds... kinda cool."

Sam's hand dropped from the handle as he turned to Dean. "Torn _apart_," he echoed.

"Well, yeah," Dean scoffed. "But it sure as hell beats..."

When he didn't answer, Sam persisted. "Beats what?"

"A drunk-driver."

Sam silently considered his own fate. "No, it doesn't."

"What? Yes it does!"

Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry, but no."

"Look, if you want a second opinion I'll ask Stanson. He'll back me up on this, I'm sure."

Sam sent an indiscernible look Stanson's way, before turning back to the task at hand. "Doesn't matter."

Dean frowned at the change in demeanour, but decided not to pursue it. His Sam never told him what was up anyway. If he stopped to think about it, he would have to concede that it was because he never asked. Still, they were on alright ground before, and Dean wanted that open – if somewhat tense – conversation back. This Sam, he noticed, didn't talk to him like he was an idiot. He got exasperated at times, but didn't have that holier-than-thou attitude that came with a law degree.

Before he got the chance to say anything, Sam signalled that he was about to open the locker.

_Three. Two. One._

Sam pulled open the door and Dean faced the fourth most unbelievable thing he'd ever seen (the second to happen today). It was a puppet – dummy – mario-whatever – and it was lunging for him. Dean whipped his gun up and fired two shots into the head and torso. The first took off its nose, and the second went clean through its non-existent heart... And into Sam's leg.

"Shit."

The second's distraction was enough for the marionette to skitter into the shadows of the room. Dean ignored it and ran for Sam. He slid to the floor next to his brother and began checking his wound.

Sam noticed the steadily growing panic on Dean's face and tried to calm him. "Dean, it went clean through. I'll be fine… Dean? Dean!"

Dean blinked. "You hit me."

"Yeah, well you shot me. We're even."

That drew his attention back to Sam's leg. "We gotta get you to a hospital."

"I'm alright, Dean."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do."

"No you don't, Sam! I gotta… I gotta…"

"_Dean!_"

"YOU'RE NOT GONNA DIE SAM!"

"You're right, I'm not." He was quiet, but he got the point across.

Dean stared into his eyes, searching for something. Sam felt compelled to hold his gaze until he found whatever it was he was looking for. In the background, he heard Bobby shepherding the others away and was thankful. He turned his attention back to Dean, who was doing something he didn't even do when he died: he was crying.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam frowned. "I'm fine, really. This isn't the first time I've been shot."

Dean looked as though he was going to say something. But as the seconds ticked on, he shut his mouth and wiped his eyes. When he looked back up the mask was in place, and aside from some residual red rimming his eyes, you'd never know.

One sniff and then he pulled a bandage from one of the pockets, all business.

As he tended to Sam's wound the best he could, Sam was appraising his gear. "They sure load you up, don't they?"

"Gotta be prepared, Sam."

Sam nodded to his vest pouches. "You have candy in one of those, don't you?"

"What? No."

"Dean."

"I don't have any."

"They send you on a mission to an alternate reality, load you up like a pack mule and you don't get rations?"

"'Course we get rations." He tied off the temporary bandage. "You'll have to get this stitched up, I don't have the supplies."

Sam rolled down his jeans. "Yeah, I'll do it later. Give us some candy."

"I already told you I don't have any."

"You just said you did."

"No, I said I have rations. _Rations_." He sounded it out.

Sam just looked at him like he knew exactly which pocket Dean's Twinkie was in, and yes, he knew they were Twinkies too. Dean sighed and pulled one out of his pocket.

"Thanks." Sam fiddled with it, but didn't open it. He did accept Dean's help up, though.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to eat it?"

"Oh, no." He looked sheepish. "I just wanted to see if you would."

Dean snatched it back, muttering under his breath, "Bitch."

"Jerk."

The reply was immediate, and Dean paused to consider him. "Wuss."

The next retort wasn't as fast, as though he wasn't used to it going this far. "…Oprah-lover."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Dean surreptitiously checked that his team hadn't heard, before he knocked Sam's injured leg. It wasn't hard, but it still had the desired effect.

"Ow!"

"See, pansy."

"I'm gonna kick your ass, Dean."

"Yeah, how you gonna manage that, Limpy?"

Dean stopped. This was usually the point where he'd gone too far and Sam would start huffing and then ignore him until he apologised. Instead Sam was smiling. It was a sad, yet happy smile. It was the smile people had in mind when they said, _I'm so happy I could cry_. It made Dean uncomfortable, so he added,

"Dude, no matter what reality I go to, you're still a girl."

Sam held his gaze, and then slowly raised Dean's Twinkie into view. He opened it slowly and took a large bite.

Normally he wouldn't have gotten that far, but Dean was still surprised his brother had managed to lift it right out of his hands. _Twice now!_ "Klepto."

Sam swallowed his bite and inspected the wrapper. His tone was light, conversational. "You taught me, you know."

"I'm all for inter-relatial brotherly bonding, but do you think we can get back to work?" Bobby was staring at them across the room. He looked annoyed, and Dean let Sam field this one while he checked on his team.

They were huddled by the mirror and pretending they hadn't heard absolutely everything there was to hear in this cramped storage room.

"Anything?"

"Not yet, sir. We'll let you know when we do," Stanson replied. "That is unless you're watching Oprah, of course. Wouldn't want to disturb you, sir."

Dean filed away a reminder to get back at Stanson and instead gave him a once over. "And how are you going?"

"I'll be better when we get home, sir."

Dean looked to the mirror. "Can't you just go there and come right back?"

Stanson talked slowly. "I'd have to find it first, sir."

"No, _there_," He pointed to the reality currently showing on the mirror. It was the SGC, but no one was watching from the other side. "Didn't you say I had to wait for two hours when I was being cleared, because every time I kept going back and forth it reset the time-frame?"

Stanson looked between his C/O and the mirror, recognition alight in his eyes. "Yes sir, I did."

"Then go there, come back and you should have another couple of hours of searching without impending non-existence."

"Actually, because I have already experienced Entropic Cascade Failure in this universe, it is likely that the time before the first ECF attack will be noticeably sooner as this reality will be more attuned to my presence and-"

Dean held up a hand. "Will it help at all?"

Stanson considered. "Yes sir."

"Then do it Stanson," He ordered.

Stanson passed the remote to Talley and then passed to the mirror. He was back in a jiffy. Of course Dean didn't say that for fear that Stanson would actually tell him the scientific length of a jiffy, and he didn't need to know that right now, or ever.

Sam's presence was just over his shoulder, and Dean threw a quick "Get back to work," before turning around. "You alright?" He nodded to Sam's leg.

"Fine."

"You sure you don't want to…" his jaw was set in a stubborn expression that Dean unfortunately knew all too well. "Nevermind."

He slid back into his soldier zone as he surveyed the room. It was something he hadn't actually done a whole lot since his brother – when did he become his brother and not Other Sam? – had shown up. Because any silence ultimately led to thoughts he was trying to avoid and crap he was doing it again.

He let out a sigh and tried to focus again. Sweeping about the room, he kept his eyes trained for the slightest movement. He didn't hear anything, not even his brother's footsteps. _That's because dead people don't make noise._

The thought sprung up before he could stop it, and he tried to brush it away. When images of a funeral plot and a crying widow appeared before his eyes, he turned his head to Sam just long enough to quell them.

He must have stared longer than he thought because without turning to check, Sam asked, "What?"

Fumbling for a reply, he said, "Quiet bastard, isn't he?"

"Gone bastard, is more like it."

At that, they both looked to Bobby, who was standing by the open door with a weary sigh.

Dean idly wondered if it was because his last mission was spent with SG-1, or it was just something that all colonels shared because, as he looked out the open door, only one thing came to mind,

"Oh, for crying out loud!"


	8. Stage 3a

Stage III/A – Assessing Your Position

* * *

"So..." Dean sighed. "Evil Pinocchio."

"Looks like," Sam agreed. And that was the end of that.

They had spent the last five minutes searching the rest of the floor for the damned thing. Bobby had straightened his cap and disappeared to find more information on what they were facing. Dean seriously doubted there was a _Complete Idiot's Guide to Puppets_, or _Living Dummies for Dummies_ that he could just look up, but Sam had been confident that Bobby would be able to drum up something useful.

It was at that point Dean had scoffed and remarked that _it's a puppet, Sam. What else do you need to know except that it's alive and flammable?_ He had replied with something typically geeky about 'knowing thy enemy' - Dean wasn't really sure. He'd gone off on his own track, contemplating what allowances he would concede where Pinocchio was concerned. _If it knew where gold was buried, that would be handy to know. Or, if it could shoot lasers out of its eyes - definitely something to make a note of. Though if _did _have laser vision, I don't see why _it's _the one hiding_...

"Dean!"

"What?" He spun around, looking for any disturbances or causes for alarm. Instead he found a brother who was staring at him impassively. After a beat, Sam slowly raised his eyebrow.

Dean realised he'd just been had and nonchalantly lowered his arms as though his freak-out wasn't anything worth commenting on. "You find anything?"

Sam stared a moment longer before he slowly drawled out a "No."

"Then quit dawdling." He continued down the corridor, and Sam fell into step with him.

"Dawdling?"

"It means loitering. To dally, linger..."

"I know what it means I just... I'm just wondering why you chose that particular word."

"Geardon."

"What?"

"High school. You don't remember..." He stopped. "Did you go to Lawrence High?"

"No, actually."

"Actually?"

"It was one of the few schools we didn't go to."

"Oh." They started walking again. "Travel a lot?"

"Yeah, Dad... Dad thought it was best." _And I thought he was wrong. Still do_.

"That explains how he has a locker in Buffalo." He laughed. "Must have driven Mom nuts."

Sam didn't want to reveal that case of bad news when the opportunity to hear about the mother he never knew was right there, so he bit his tongue. "What?"

"You know, After growing up with Grandma and Grandpa she said she'd never leave home."

"Howso?"

He frowned. "She's not like that here?"

"No."

"Jesus. Everything's different. You are still Sam, though – right?"

"No, actually I'm Jimmy. Jimmy Page."

Dean was set to reply when the name actually registered. Instead he smiled in approval. "Okay Samantha, but fair's fair. I tell you about my Mom and you tell me about yours – deal?"

Sam felt bad that he was short-changing his brother, but he agreed non-the-less.

"Okay, well you know how Grandpa and Grandma were in the air force, yeah?"

"Err, yeah."

"Well they kept moving depending on their assignments and as a result Mom grew up in like a dozen different houses. When she met Dad and settled down she swore she was never gonna leave the house." Dean's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I remember Dad trying to convince her to move house once and she stuck her feet in. Drilled the furniture into the ground to prove the point."

Sam smiled. "That's... determined."

"Yeah, well you know Mom." He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Okay, your turn. What's Alterna-Mom like?"

The sound of their footsteps was deafening in the wake of the conversation.

"Sam?"

"Hmm? Oh, She... She's..."

Dean took the hint. "Oh. Hey, forget I asked."

They walked on in silence, checking that each locker was in fact locked, and keeping an eye out for the marionette. They got to the service elevator, and Sam said they should go down; using the logic that it would want to get as far away as possible.

The uncomfortable silence became stifling in smaller confines, so Sam tried for conversation again. "So, Gearun?"

"Huh?"

"You were talking about someone from High School."

"Oh right, Geardon. English teacher. Had him in Sophomore." Dean struggled to recall why he had brought him up. "He... Oh yeah, he used to keep trying to come up with words for my tardiness, being an English teacher and all. One day he ran out of synonyms and just stood there all agitated and I suggested dawdle and he got so flustered that I one-upped him he let me off the hook." Dean frowned. "And then busted me for smoking. The hypocrite." Dean snapped out of his memory. "Anyway, the point was that from then on if anyone was loitering the word anyone ever used was dawdle."

"Ahh."

"Yeah."

Sam noted that the conversation didn't seem to help the uncomfortable silence at all, as it swooped back in instantly. He tried to think of something else to fill the void when Dean beat him to it.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What am I doing? I mean, what did I used to do? Before I was killed... by hellhounds."

"Pretty much what we're doing now. Hunting."

"We're... hunting?"

Sam nodded. "The marionette. We hunt Supernatural things: spirits mostly. Though recently there's been a lot of demons on the rise."

"Demons."

"Yeah."

"Demons."

"...Yeah."

"How the hell do you kill a demon?"

"It's hard. We just send them back to Hell, mostly."

"Hell." Dean echoed.

"Yeah."

"Hell's real."

_You're there right now_, Sam swallowed. "Yeah."

"So, it's not a planet?"

"What?"

"Nevermind." Dean shrugged it off. "So I hunt ghosts and demons and... Werewolves? Vampires?"

"They're not as common as you'd think, but yeah, we've taken down a few."

"Man, I am badass." Dean smiled. "Wait, you said we."

"Yeah, we."

"So you..." He trailed off.

"What?"

"You didn't go to Stanford." He finished.

"No, I did." _And my girlfriend got pinned to the ceiling and burned alive. _That wasn't really something he wanted to talk about. "...Not."

If Dean found something in Sam's reply he didn't say, instead asking. "And Dad knows about all this, too? What with the locker and curses and stuff."

Sam looked away. "Yeah, Dad knows."

"Maybe we should get him here then, think he'd be able to help...?"

"He's..." _Dead too._ But Sam didn't want Dean looking at him like he was the most kicked puppy in the world, so he said, "...busy with a job, besides it would look weird seeing you considering you're dead."

"Yeah, but you took it alright, surely he'd be able to-"

Sam cut him off. "Trust me on this. It's better if we don't."

Dean stared into his eyes for a minute, before relenting. "Alright."

They left the confines of the elevator and Sam thought he'd finally found a safe line of conversation.

"So, you're a Colonel?""

"Yeah..." The smile on Dean's face hinted at something more.

"Aren't you a little young?"

Dean smiled in that smug way of his and pointed to himself. "Awesome."

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean changed the topic. "So what's up with you and Talley?"

"What?"

"You know him, don't you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You can't hate someone you don't know."

"He killed me."

"Oh." He stood back as Sam opened the door to outside. _We're out already?_ "You look alright for a dead guy. Smell a little though."

"Thanks, Dean."

"Seriously, I know it might go against the zombie code, but consider having a shower."

They looked around the vacant building, ears and eyes peeled for any sounds of movement.

"So, what do we do when we find it?" Dean asked, turning slowly in a circle.

Sam shrugged. "Grab it and stuff it in a bag."

"Damn, I left my bag in my other reality." Dean drawled. "Wait, what happened to the whole 'it's cursed' thing?"

"Well, considering we don't know exactly what it does, we can't just let it run loose to cause havoc. Besides, we've got a bag in the trunk."

"We do?" Dean asked.

"I do." Sam amended. "This way."

Dean followed Sam back to where the Impala was parked and stopped in surprise. "Dude, you got Dad's car?" He stopped and surveyed it as Sam went to the trunk, running a hand along the roof. "Hunh."

"What?"

"Nothing, just the little things." At Sam's look he pointed to the mirrors. "Different mirrors."

"It's better than no mirrors."

"I suppose, but still it's... Did you crash Dad's car?"

"What? No." He'd never live it down. From the way Dean was eyeing the car Sam could tell that alternate reality or not, Dean was still in love with the thing.

"Sam..."

"You crashed it."

"_I_ crashed it?" He looked horrified.

"Yeah, there was this whole thing with a demon and he kind of drove a semi into it."

"Oh. But it wasn't my fault, right?"

"Yes Dean, even though you were driving it wasn't your fault." Sam had to remember that piece of information for the next time his Dean brought up the incident...

"Hey Sam, you alright?"

"What?" How did Dean suddenly materialise in front of him? "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He started to rummage through the trunk for a spare duffel.

"O-kaaay." Clearly Dean wasn't buying it. But thankfully he wasn't pushing it either. He looked down to the trunk. "Hey, isn't the trunk supposed to be bigger?"

As he leant down to inspect he caught sight of the gap between the false bottom and the edge of the car. Sam watched as he shoved a bag over to lift it up.

"Woah. That's..." he looked over the weapons cache. "...What is that?"

"Rock salt."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"It deters spirits and demons."

"Okay." He spotted the rifle. "Niice."

"You done?" Sam still needed to get a duffel, and it was a little hard to do while Dean was eyeing the weapons with child-like glee. When he finished perusing them he stood back and let Sam have access again.

Just as he slammed the lid closed – Dean looked ready reprimand but stopped as though it wasn't his place – Sam's phone started to ring. He checked the display and mouthed Bobby to Dean before answering.

It took Dean a few seconds to remember who Bobby was, and then let Sam field the call in private whilst he meandered around the parking lot. He managed to make his way back just as Sam hanged up.

"What's up?" He asked as Sam started for the driver-side door.

"We gotta hurry. Bobby says it goes for the nearest family and tries to take the child's place."

"So it really is Evil Pinocchio." Dean commented.

"Huh?"

"It wants to be a real boy." Dean elaborated.

"Yeah, I guess. Bobby said that-" he stopped as the key went into the lock. "Hey, you wanna drive?"

Dean looked over the Impala with bright eyes. "You serious?"

Sam tossed him the keys in answer and swapped sides with him. By the time they shut the doors in unison they were both smiling. Dean because he was clearly enjoying the prospect of driving the Impala, and Sam because he had missed this.

"She's yours, you know." Sam said quietly.

"What?"

"The Impala was yours."

"Sweet." He replied. "Yeah, Dad offered me – my Dad – offered me the other Impala but I didn't have enough leave to keep her up, and they won't let me take her offworld, so..."

"Offworld?"

"Abroad."

"Ah. Would probably be a bit of a liability anyway."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, a scenario playing out in his head that wasn't going the way he'd like it to. He blinked it away. "So, where to Jeeves?"

"Not sure. Probably aim for somewhere crowded but passing as many homes as we can along the way?" Sam suggested.

"Lay on, McDuff." Dean kicked the engine over. "What?"

Sam turned back to retrieve his laptop. "Nothing, you're just not much of a Shakespeare enthusiast in this reality."

"Thank God for something similar."

"Then how exactly do you know MacBeth?"

"Lucy Miller needed a study partner," Dean smiled fondly.

Sam snorted. "Something similar..."

As soon as Sam pulled up a map they discussed a likely direction and headed out. Sam argued that they should go east, as the closest houses were that way. Dean negated and said north, because the puppet wouldn't _know_ that, and north was the direction that looked like it had the most opportunities for cover from the vantage point of the locker. In the end Sam caved and they headed out.

Being in the industrial estate, they had a while until they had to tone up the searching. Dean decided to find out what else Bobby said.

"Oh, he said that the marionette's cursed in the sense that it was once a boy, who was turned into a marionette-"

"-Could've figured that out on my own-"

"-And if he finds a boy, they take his place." Sam ploughed on.

"Wait, so 'take his place' as in, they become the marionette?"

"And they live out the rest of the child's life." Sam nodded.

"Won't they notice that he's not their son?"

"Apparently can mimic the appearance of the person whose life he's taking. Take a left."

"Yeah, but still – don't you think they'd notice the kid suddenly acting different?"

"Well, what are they going to do about it? Unless they know about the supernatural, they're more likely to rationalise it away as some sort of personality disorder or... something. I mean, wouldn't you?"

"After I made sure he didn't have a snake living inside him," Dean muttered.

"What?"

Dean cleared his throat. "So how do we kill it?"

"Bobby's working on it. He says there's no reason we can't catch it, though."

"Uh-huh. What's up with Bobby?"

"Bobby's... Bobby." Sam fumbled at the abrupt change of topic. "He's a hunter as well."

"That all?"

"And a friend. Practically family."

Dean took all this in. "Suspicious bastard though, isn't he?"

"You don't get to be Bobby's age in this business without it. Left again."

"Case in point – me." Dean's laugh died out when he realised Sam didn't think it was funny.

They drove in silence for the next few minutes, with Sam only speaking to give Dean directions.

"Hey, Sam?"

Sam looked up.

"What if we got it wrong? What if the puppet really did go east? What happens then?"

"An innocent boy gets turned into a marionette."

"So there's nothing else can we can do. Like, undo it or something?"

"You can't undo a curse." Sam explained. "You can just get out of its way."

"But what about the original kid – puppet – whatever?"

"What about him?"

"You said he was a kid once too. So we're just gonna kill him? Poor bastard's been wood for God knows how long. That's gotta have some kind of effect on him." He frowned. "That sounded a little dirty."

"There's nothing we can do. His family has probably been long dead, and like it or not, we have to stop him from putting another child through his fate. There isn't another way around it." Sam felt a weird jolt of role-reversal. Usually he was the one looking for a happy ending and Dean had to lay down the cold fact that you couldn't save everyone.

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

Another lull was just about to descend in the car when Dean's radio crackled.

"_Colonel Winchester, this is Stargate Command. Please respond."_

Sam looked up at the mention of Stargate, but Dean answered before he could get a word in. "This is Winchester."

"_Winchester, you have been ordered to return to the SGC immediately. Your team has already done so."_

"Yeah, about that. See, there's a bit of a problem here that we caused, and I figured the least I could-"

"_Major Stanson has informed us of the situation and the directive still stands. Return to the SGC A-sap."_

"But-"

"_That's an order, Colonel."_

Dean sighed. "Yes, sir. Winchester out." He pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine. "Look, sorry about this. I wish I could stay and help but..." He shrugged.

"You don't have to go."

"Yes I do, unless I want a court marshal."

"But – you just got here!"

Dean smiled at Sam and then opened the door.

Sam bolted from his side to meet him. "I can give you a lift back...?" He offered.

"Thanks, but you have to save the day." He nodded in the other direction.

They stared each other down for a minute before Dean smiled again. "Take care, Sam."

"It's Sammy." Sam replied, and then pulled him in for a hug.

When they broke, Dean started back towards the locker without looking back.

Sam watched as his brother left, presumably forever, simply because someone told him to. He blinked away a tear. "Something familiar." He echoed, before he got in the car and drove in the other direction.


	9. Stage 3b

Stage III/B – Bringing a New Player to the Table

* * *

Sergeant Bates was there to greet Dean when he returned to the locker, and through the mirror he could spy Stanson waiting on the other side. He looked slightly apprehensive and Dean knew him well enough to know what it meant.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm about to get some news I really don't want to be hearing?" He muttered.

"I don't know, sir. I was only told to retrieve you." Bates answered.

"Mission accomplished then," Dean clapped him on the back at the same time he reached out to the mirror. Whilst Bates was getting his new bearings, Dean turned to Paul. "Spill."

Stanson shifted uncomfortably. "Well, nothing has been confirmed, but..." From Dean's impatient glare he got the hint that he wouldn't find a way around delivering the news. "They want to scrub the mission."

Dean glanced back to the mirror where his brother was out hunting down some kind of evil puppet all by himself. That didn't bother Dean so much as weird him out. But considering all that happened in the last – he checked his watch – four hours (_Really? Was that all?_), he just wasn't ready to say goodbye to Sam just yet. Especially considering he didn't actually get to say goodbye.

He turned back to Stanson who, from the look on his face, had already figured it out before Dean did. He offered a sympathetic smile. "Debriefing is in thirty minutes. Is that enough time for you to pull out a miracle?"

"It'll have to be." Dean replied. "Thanks, Paul."

"Don't mention it."

After a quick check-up in the infirmary, Dean darted into the showers and got changed. On his way out he happened to run into his miracle.

"Jack."

O'Neill stopped short. "Winchester. Heard about your brother, that's tough."

Dean had long ago stopped being surprised at Jack's ability to hear things before they even made it to the grapevine. Instead he jumped right into it. "Jack, I need a favour."

"Sure." The answer was instinctual, so he had to add a few addendums. "Wait, it doesn't involve science, does it? Some old ruins? Something I really don't want to be doing?"

Dean didn't actually consider his answer, he just said no because he knew it was the quickest way to get Jack to agree.

"Then sure, what's up?"

"It's, well... It's about Sam."

Something unreadable crossed O'Neill's face. "What about her?"

"I – wait, _her_?" Realisation dawned. "Oh, no I mean my brother Sam."

"Oh." Jack seemed to relax a little. "I thought that was all sorted."

"Not really."

"George didn't give you time to go see him and say goodbye?"

"No."

Dean was right for banking on Jack seeing his plight, because at that answer, he seemed genuinely sincere. "Really? That doesn't sound like the General we all know and impersonate. Are you sure?"

"Not entirely. I haven't actually spoken to him yet, but Paul gave me a heads up that he's looking to decline my request."

O'Neills' eyebrows scrunched together. "Paul...?"

"Stanson."

"Right."

Dean suspected Jack had no idea who Stanson was, but he wasn't about to call him on it.

"So you want me to... do what exactly?"

Dean shrugged. "Back me up?"

"Yeah. Sure. Of course." Jack peered into his eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

"Fine." Dean replied. "Or I will be when I get the go-ahead."

Jack fell into step with Dean as they headed up to the briefing room. "Don't worry. If there's one thing I know about Hammond, it's that he's a softie at heart."

.-.-.

Jack lounged in one of the chairs and began to spin it back and forth to amuse himself while he waited. Dean remained standing, even after General Hammond had taken his seat. He jumped in before Hammond could speak. "Sir, permission to-"

"Denied."

"But sir-"

"Son, I think you need to hear what I have to say."

Dean reluctantly took a seat.

"Now, given your recent circumstances, and Major Stanson's report, I'm going to have to decline your request to return to see your brother."

"But sir-"

"I know you may feel responsible for him, but it's the opinion of both myself and Dr. Fraser that allowing you to return would be unhealthy to your grieving process." When Dean looked ready to speak, Hammond continued. "If you were to return, you would most likely form an attachment to your brother which could very well compromise your judgement, do you not agree?"

Dean did, he really did. It was why he couldn't say anything.

Thankfully Jack didn't suffer the same problem. "Oh, for crying out loud! General, with all due respect, that is ridiculous!"

George turned to Jack as though he had just registered his presence. "Colonel, I wasn't aware you were informed of the situation."

"Yeah, well, I am. And I gotta say that whole excuse you've got going is a load of crock." He gestured to Dean. "There is no man I know who is more capable of completing a mission without falling, um..." He clicked his fingers, "Without succumbing to distraction. Except for Teal'c, but he doesn't really count." When Hammond looked ready to retort, Jack steamrolled over the top, knowing he'd already overstepped his bounds so he might as well get it all in while he could. "And when something like this happens, you need closure. I don't care who you are, you're gonna need closure. And really, what better way is there to get it?"

General Hammond wasn't the only one considering Jacks' words after that statement. Though, Dean doubted the General had the same train of thought as he did. He hoped not, because unless he was mistaken, Dean was beginning to suspect that for once Jack _wasn't_ up to date with the inner workings of the SGC, and had mistook Dean's failed request to return through the Quantum Mirror as a rebuttal of shore leave to visit his brother's grave (granted, that was also something he had yet to do). It certainly would explain why he'd reacted so vehemently on his behalf.

Come to think of it, Dean couldn't recall anything Jack had said that indicated he knew Dean had just returned from an alternate reality. Normally there would be jokes at the very least. He hoped Hammond didn't pick up on that, though.

When he had finished giving Jack's rant its due, the General in question turned to him. "Colonel, are you sure you want to do this?"

Dean didn't even need to think. "Yes sir."

"You are aware that I can't allow Major Stanson and Sergeant Talley to accompany you, considering the circumstances."

Dean noticed Jack starting to look confused, so he quickly replied. "Yes sir."

Hammond then turned to Jack who, after a minute's confusion, got the hint. "Hey, if it's a case of needing a babysitter – and personally I don't see why he would – I'd be more than happy to volunteer."

"Do you have the time?"

Jack waved a hand. "Sure. PX22-something was a bust. Some weird-looking plants but nothing else, I got the time."

George sighed. "Very well. Assemble SG-1 and be prepared to go at 1500 hours." With that, he stood and left.

A beat later, Jack turned to Dean. "Wait, why do I have to assemble the team?"

Dean chewed his lip for a second before he reached over the table and slid Stanson's mission folder in front of Jack. "Thanks, Jack. Really."

And then he bolted before Jack could back out.


	10. Stage 3c

Stage III/C – Bluffing

* * *

"You so owe me for this."

"Yeah, I know."

"No, I mean really owe me. You have to bail me out the next five hundred times Daniel starts going on about something boring."

"Hey!"

Jack just shrugged to say that was what he thought about it, and he couldn't change it so why bother? Daniel sighed to say he should have known better than to expect otherwise.

Dean ignored them both in order to make sure that Sam hadn't returned whilst he was gone. He had taken a lot longer to relocate this reality than he would have liked. Not to mention the next few hours Carter had spent trying to create some sort of device that would hopefully avert the Entropic Cascade Failure process. At least that's what he thought she said, he had tuned out when she started talking science.

So here they were, three days and fourteen hours after the mission had originally been given a go, ready to move out once the clock ticked over two hours and they had confirmation Carter's device worked.

In the meantime Dean was ascertaining nothing was out of place since his last visit, and trying to formulate a way to get in contact with his brother.

"So, what about this other brother of yours? Any way we can get in touch with him?" Jack called out as he picked at the skull that housed the shotgun.

"I'm working on it."

"Good, good." Jack left the bone alone and looked around the room. "Have you thought of, I dunno, giving him a call?"

Well, there was the phone. There was also the slight problem of him not having his brother's number. And a flash from earlier reminded him that calling directory assistance and asking for Sam Winchester might not go as well as planned.

"I don't think that's an option," Dean answered.

"Right, because that would be too easy." Dean heard Jack mutter. "Should've known."

Jack went back to poking and prodding this and that. Daniel had found the inscriptions on the boxes fascinating and Dean had to remind him not to open them. Teal'c, who still looked military despite the street clothes they'd given him, was surveying the room in that stoic way of his. And Carter was shifting her gaze between her clock and the device attached to her other wrist.

"Sir, it appears the CEEC-F works, we are free to move around in this reality without threat of experiencing Entropic Cascade Failure."

"That just leaves all those other threats to watch out for." Jack said dryly. "Like puppets. And bones." He looked at the skull one more time. "Alright." He sighed. "Let's get ready to move out."

While Carter and Dean checked their weapons before concealing them under their clothing – this was a plain clothed op. after all – Jack stepped back over to the mirror and popped back into their reality. "Alright, we'll be back by eleven, and remember: no wild parties. I don't want to have to come back to find I have to call your mothers to come and get you."

Sergeant Bates' cheeks twitched, but he nodded regardless.

Jack flicked back into the other reality. "Alright, let's go hunt down Sid."

"Well actually..." Dean started. He stopped when he realised that Jack cared about the semantics about as much as he did. "That's a good idea, Colonel."

"Thank you, Colonel." Jack gave a little bow, and Dean used the cue to take point.

That didn't stop Jack from making remarks though. "So, America's Most Wanted..."

"Apparently."

"Rob a bank? Burn down houses? Kick puppies?"

"I was not aware that cruelty to animals warranted such a forceful reaction on the part of your government, O'Neill."

They stopped just outside the freight elevator, and Carter stepped forward to press the button.

"It doesn't."

Teal'c seemed to consider the statement for a second, and then tilted his head to indicate he understood. Dean snickered, and when Jack looked to him he covered it by ushering everyone in. He couldn't be sure, but he suspected that Teal'c pointed it out on purpose. He wondered how many other times Teal'c had made a comment at Jack's expense that went over everyones' heads.

"Okay, so any ideas for when he hit the ground? Head for the nearest Gapetto? What?"

"From the report it seems the most likely target will be a small child," Daniel recounted. "Possibly somewhere populated would be our best bet?"

"Would it not be prudent to contact the Sam Winchester of this reality first?" Teal'c supplied.

"Teal'c is right." Carter agreed. "We are basically walking into an unknown situation. Too much time has passed since Colonel Winchester left-"

"You're telling me," He muttered.

"-Which leaves us facing a lot of unknowns. For all we know, his brother may have already thwarted this," She seemed hesitant to say it, "...cursed puppet."

"Which would make this entire mission moot." Jack commented. "Alright, we'll assume he hasn't for now," He turned to Dean. "I'd hate to have you owe me so much for doing so little. It almost doesn't seem fair."

"A-ha."

"Which leads us back to getting in touch with him?"

"I'm sorry, while this all seems fascinating," Daniel interjected, "Tracking and curses are not really my areas of expertise." He paused. "No more than any of you, come to think of it. But some of the inscriptions on the boxes – not to mention what's inside them – may have be of some sort of value that John Winchester didn't know about. I mean, he had a Quantum Mirror in there – who's to say that he may not had stumbled on some other piece of alien technology worth investigating?"

"So you want to go back and poke around the boxes?"

Dean spoke up. "Woah, hey woah – bad idea. I speak from experience: this is not something we want to be doing."

Daniel held up a hand to stave him off. "I'm just saying; we're here – it's certainly worth looking into."

Jack turned to Carter, who shrugged. "He does have a point, sir."

"Of course he does. Alright, Carter, you and Daniel go poke around the wacky gadgets-" As Dean looked ready to protest, he added. "-But do _not_ open them, are we clear? You'll just have to make do with the pretty pretty pictures."

Carter nodded. "Yes sir."

Daniel sighed. "Right, sure."

"Atta boy." Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll be on the radio if anything happens. Check in every two hours, and tell Sergeant..."

"Bates," Dean supplied.

"...What's going on."

"Will do, sir."

With that said, Jack, Teal'c and Dean stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor. They waited until Daniel and Carter disappeared from sight before continuing outside.

"So how's that plan coming along, Winchester?"

"Working on it."

The sun was well up now, and like last time the storage locker was deserted (though Dean hadn't really suspected any different). He was a little saddened to see the Impala missing from the spot where he remembered it though.

"Winchester? Colonel? Hey, Dean!"

He looked up to Jack's concerned face. "Yeah?"

"You al-"

"I'm fine, just trying to think of something." He replied. He was getting kind of sick of that question. More-so, he was getting sick of people looking at him like they wanted to ask that question. He turned away.

"Okay. T suggested we try calling directory assistance to find your brother's phone number. Right now I'm thinking it's all we got."

Dean waved a hand, distracted. The sign in front of him caught his attention. "That won't work."

"Why not?"

"Because." He turned back to them. "But there is one number we could try." He thumbed over his shoulder to Black Rock Storage's billboard, complete with a phone number underneath.

.-.-.

They'd rung the number on the board, only to find themselves talking to a man who seemed half-asleep despite the hour. He'd given them the address of his "office", which Dean suspected was nothing more than his kitchen table – if he even had one – and now Jack and Teal'c were going in under the pretence of renting a locker. Dean was absent in case the him from this reality had already met Dave Teak, Self-Storage Entrepreneur.

Jack looked around the dank corridor for number four. When they found it, Jack was hesitant to knock on the door for fear he'd catch something. Teal'c sensed his trepidation but did nothing to ease it.

"It appears Colonel Winchester was correct in his earlier summation of Mr. Teak."

"Appearances can be deceiving." Jack countered and, with a slight cringe, banged on the door.

A ruffling sound was heard before someone shuffled towards the door. It opened to a weedy looking man with unkempt straw hair. He greeted them in a ratty dressing gown and boxers.

"O'Neill?"

"Unfortunately."

"What?"

"Yes. Yes, that's me."

"Ahuh." Dave turned away and started padding back into the apartment.

Teal'c leaned down to Jack's ear. "It appears you owe Colonel Winchester twenty dollars, O'Neill."

Ever the eloquent one, Jack grumbled a "Shut up," before following Dave inside.

Ducking rubbish and a half eaten bowl of cereal they came to stop at a small kitchenette table at which Dave sat. It was covered in everything under the sun, and yet was still the cleanest part of the whole apartment.

"Oh, yeah, sorry about the clutter – my girlfriend kicked me out so I haven't exactly been Mr. Respectable."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow which Jack interpreted as him silently informing him that he now owed Dean forty dollars. Jack chose to ignore it. "It's alright."

"Okay, so you're looking for a, uhh, locker, right?" He started shifting the papers and clothes on the table. "I know I got the keys here somewhere."

"Actually we're looking for someone who already has a locker."

Dave stopped. "Huh?"

"Number twenty-six. We were hoping you had a way to get in contact with him?"

Dave seemed lost at the turn in conversation "Uhh, I don't think I'm allowed to give out information like that." He then spared a glance at Teal'c, who was pulling off the silent intimidation by merely staring at him patiently. Dave swallowed noticeably.

Jack pulled out his military credentials (should he run into any trouble in this reality) and showed them to Dave. "This is a matter of national security, Mr. Teak. We need to get in touch with him."

At those magical words, Dave seemed to finally wake up. "Yeah, sure. I uhh, got the information here somewhere..." He started to rummage again. "Funny thing, I had to call him last week – someone broke into his locker again. Do you suppose it has anything to do with that?"

Jack spared a glance with Teal'c. "We're not at liberty to say."

"Sure, I understand." He picked up a rumpled sheet and tried to smooth it out before he handed it over. "Here's his details."

Jack spared a glance at it before he handed it to Teal'c. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem, I'm always willing to help out my country in any way possible." He paused. "Hey, I'm not in any kind of danger, am I?"

Jack took one last look around the room. "Most likely."

Daves' eyes widened. "What?"

"Your country thanks you." Jack nodded and then followed Teal'c out the door.

When they got outside, Dean hopped off the brick fence and came to greet them. "Got it?"

"Indeed we did," Teal'c replied, handing over the paper.

Dean unfolded it and pulled out the cell phone he'd acquired whilst they were inside. The woman he'd bought it off was all hands with the flirting. "No, I meant the forty dollars you owe me."

Jack looked ready to chastise Teal'c for ratting him out, before he remembered he was wearing his ear piece. "How about we make it three hundred lectures instead of five?"

"Yeah, sure." He put the phone to his ear, a smirk on his face. "I'll break even before the mission's finished at this rate. Hello, uh, Bobby, is it?..."


	11. Stage 4

Stage IV – Depression  
(_a.k.a. Being Left Alone with Your Thoughts_)

* * *

It was pure luck that Sam happened to stumble upon the marionette the way he did. Though to be accurate, it was less of a 'stumble upon' and more of a 'run over'.

After Dean had departed for what was presumably his own reality, Sam was left with nothing but his thoughts. And while they originally sifted through the 'crazy for some, normal for us' absurdity of running into his brother's doppelganger, it quickly dissolved back into the melancholic state that he was in before Dean had shown up in the first place. Dean was gone, and he was "moping", as Bobby had called it.

Though the man had claimed – on more than one occasion – to have loved Dean like a son, Sam just couldn't believe that his brother's loss would have affected Bobby as much as it had him. They were _brothers_; they'd spent most of their lives together. They'd saved each others' asses more than once (and if Sam had to think on it, he'd realise that it was usually Dean doing the saving), and they could argue with a glance. Sam used to think there were two constants in his life; his brother and his father. Since his father's death nearly two years ago, Sam was left with Dean. And now that they were both gone, Sam felt like he was a ship without an anchor, floating along in life. His brother helped ground him, he was the post by which he measured life – whether it was as someone he wanted to be, or admittedly in some cases, what he didn't want to be. He was his yardstick, his best friend. His brother. Bobby, for all his avuncular affections, didn't have that. So in Sam's mind, he couldn't possibly fathom how hard his brother's death had affected him.

It was during these ruminations that Sam had driven down the road on autopilot, and consequently missed the small figure that had skittered across the road at that moment. When he felt something go under the tires he slammed on the brakes.

Fearing he'd run over an animal or worse, a small child, he'd leapt from the car without his gun, which was still on the passenger seat. In hindsight he'd realise that was actually a good thing considering how ineffective it was the last time, and running around a suburban street toting a gun wouldn't go down well.

After taking two rapid steps from the car he'd slowed to a halt. There was nothing there. The road was empty except for... was that a shoe? Some poor kid had lost a shoe? Sam felt a quick pang of sympathy; he knew what that was like.

As he got closer, he noticed that it was made of wood, and not only was it a shoe, but also a foot as well. He spun around, his eyes skimming the houses and yards for any sign of movement. Minutes went by before Sam realised that the marionette wouldn't have to move at all. It didn't have muscles that would get stiff, and it didn't need to breathe. It could wait in its hiding place until Sam gave up and left. Which meant that Sam had to go looking for it.

Not wanting to give away his plan too soon, Sam stayed where he was and calculated possibly hiding spots. The house on the left was out; it was too far from the kerb and had an empty lawn. The marionette couldn't have made it there with only one foot in the time it took Sam to get out of the car. The house next to it had a tall picket fence that Pinocchio couldn't climb mono-limbed, and the gate was shut. Sam casually turned to the other side of the street.

The lot opposite the picket fence was empty, and a "for sale" sign was plunked in the middle of wild grass. It was possible that it was hiding in there somewhere. Sam checked the last house just in case. It was a mirror of its opposing building; house far back, wide lawn. But it also had a row of trees down the side, and a bush next to the brick letterbox.

Sam turned his head back to the empty lot and pretended to search it whilst his mind considered the bush. It was close, possibly the closest point of cover from the street, and could easily fit a small child, even a wooden one. He took two steps towards both the lot and house when he stopped. There was one other hiding place that was the closest to the street, because it was _on_ the street.

Grateful no one was around to witness his stupidity, he spun around and lowered himself to the ground under the car in one fluid movement. He hadn't taken into account that just because he couldn't see the marionette, it didn't necessarily mean it couldn't see him, and consequently be ready for Sam's sneak-attack, which it was.

When Sams' head appeared under the car, the marionette lashed out with its other foot; catching Sam in the eye. It then ducked out along the side and ran over to his injured leg, stomping on it with its shoeless one. Using the moment of pain as a distraction, the marionette limped for cover.

A short cry escaped Sam at the flare of pain in his leg, but he overcame it quickly (years of practice). He swept out his other freakishly long limb and caught the marionette. As it stumbled, Sam leaned over and snatched it up by its remaining foot.

Dangling upside down, the marionette's mouth opened and closed in soundless cries before it reached up and clamped its mouth around Sam's wrist. Reflexively, Sam swung his arm into the trunk of the car in an effort to detach it without letting go of its leg. However being wooden it didn't feel any pain, and only served to leave a noticeable dint in the Impala.

As the marionette's grip tightened, Sam felt more than heard the breaking of the bones in his wrist. He grit his teeth to stem the cry of pain and grudgingly let go.

The marionette made it all the way to the ground before Sam kicked it over face-first and then stood on its back. Unfortunately not being human, its arms had the ability to work just as well backwards as forwards, and Sam had to stumble back to the car – grinding the marionette along the road with his foot – and grab the bag in the passenger seat before it could properly latch onto his ankle.

He picked Pinocchio up by the neck this time and quickly stuffed him into the bag. With a little pain in closing the zip (both hands were needed), he finally tossed it into the trunk along with its missing foot.

He hopped back into the car and rang Bobby. "I got it, any ideas on how to get rid of it?"

"One. Meet me at Chicago, and bring the box."

Sam clicked the phone shut and started the engine. The low rumbling from the front did nothing to quell the ceaseless thumps coming from the back, and Sam decided to turn on the stereo. Led Zeppelin's _Stairway to Heaven_ started halfway through and Sam immediately turned it off. This was Dean's music. Truth be told, it was actually his Dad's music, but Sam long ago stopped associating it with him. It seemed the only time it was his father's music was when Sam was criticising Dean's lack of individuality. Why did he do that? Sam grew increasingly despondent as he started to recall all the negative things he'd said to or about his brother, especially since he'd rejoined him. It was only when a particularly loud thump came from the trunk that he snapped out of his musings long enough to register the world around him.

Not wanting to pursue his previous train of thought he decided to listen to some music. His hand made it halfway to the dial when he stopped, recalling the vicious cycle he had just fallen into. He needed to do something about the car tunes.

The thumping – as annoying as it was – ultimately helped as it was erratic enough that it prevented Sam from wandering back down Depression Lane.

When he pulled up at the locker, the back was suspiciously quiet. He went around and made sure the lock hadn't opened whilst he was driving and then went inside, confident that it was still in the trunk.

The first thing he noticed was that the door was still open and made a note to close it on his way out. The second thing he noticed was the mirror, standing in the middle of the room like a beacon. Sam made his way over to it, a slither of hope shining through.

Unfortunately when he was close enough, all he saw was his own reflection staring back at him. He walked around to the back for some sort of switch but found nothing. It was most likely controlled by the remote Stanson had. He looked around for it before the thought came to him; _they probably took it with them_.

A few moments of intense staring proved that the mirror wouldn't turn on by sheer willpower, and Sam turned away to look for the marionette's case. When he got back to the car he checked again to make sure that it hadn't escaped, before tossing the case in the backseat and driving away.

Most of his thoughts kept straying back to the other Dean, and what he might be up to. For all they had talked, Sam didn't actually find out much about his brother. He heard a story of an upbringing he'd never had, but no hint of his brother's current exploits. More specifically, the exploits that would result in him arriving in an alternate reality and not being phased by both that and the idea of a living marionette. Sure, he'd seemed a little hesitant at first, but his Dean had the same reaction to vampires, and he'd been hunting for years. Whatever he was doing, it obviously had something to do with the supernatural. Sam wondered if they military had a division allocated to deal with such things, which led to him wondering if they had one in _this_ universe as well. If so, they could have signed up and saved themselves a lot of trouble with the police.

The rest of Sam's journey was spent ignoring the stray thoughts about his brother by contemplating the concept of hunting, not only legally, but being paid to as well. After all they'd been through, he could definitely use the dental.

.-.-.

When he got to Chicago some hours later, Bobby gave him directions to a crematorium. He parked outside and was greeted in the usual way, "Nice shiner ye go there."

Sam glared. Well, as much as he could considering his eye had started to swell. He tossed Bobby the keys and fetched the case. "So what's the plan?"

Bobby noticed that Dean was absent but didn't say anything. "From what I've read, there shouldn't be any reason it wouldn't be vulnerable to fire. We just have to make sure it stays there long enough to burn. Last thing we want is a pissed-off, flaming, cursed puppet on our hands."

Sam dropped the box next to Bobby and tenderly prodded his wrist. "You had to fly back to South Dakota to figure that out?"

Bobby levelled him a look. "No. I had to fly back to find this." He held up a book. "This has the binding spells used on the case. We set them again and it won't be able to get out until it's too late."

Sam nodded. "Okay, then let's do it."

"You mean 'me'," Bobby sarcastically replied as he opened the book to the marked page and retrieved a sharpie from his pocket. While he was going over the lines in the order required, he sent Sam off to unlock the doors to the crematorium.

When he finished, he straightened up and adjusted his cap. It didn't escape his notice that Sam had yet to return. He followed Sams' footsteps to the crematorium and called out for him. When no reply was forthcoming, he swore and pulled out his gun.

A quick sweep of the place revealed no evidence out of the ordinary, and no sign of Sam either. Bobby flipped open his phone.

"_I'm sorry, but this number is unavailable at the moment..._"

With no leads and no idea where to start looking, Bobby returned to the Impala and shoved a struggling marionette back into its case before sending it to its fiery end, all the while wondering what had happened to the younger Winchester.

When the job was done, he swept the building one final time before finding a clue that was more of a hindrance than a help: sulphur.

And then his phone rang.


	12. Stage 4a

Stage IV/A – Crash

The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence, so when Bobby heard his phone ring he scanned the area, straightened his shoulders and fixed his gruffest, 'I'm not taking any of your shit' voice into the mouthpiece. "Yeah?"

...Then thanked every deity that may/may not exist that no one was around to see he'd answered the wrong phone.

Growling, he flipped his shut and fumbled through his pocket to locate John's old cell. He placed it to his ear with no small amount of frustration. "What?"

"_Hello, uh, Bobby, is it?..."_

"Dean?" The name tumbled out, and Bobby was thankful that the reply gave his mind enough time to catch up to the present.

"_Yeah. Look, I was wondering if we could talk..."_

"We are talking, boy."

"_Right, right. I meant in a face-to-face sense."_

Bobby sighed. Even though he sounded the same, this was not the Dean Bobby knew. For all his ease with the paranormal, Bobby would bet he had little to no knowledge on the subject of demons. Which meant little to no help in finding Sam. And the last thing Bobby needed was a hole in the head or blade in the gut because he was looking out for a reminder of the past. "Look, now's not really a good time."

"_Yeah, about the puppet thing – we want to help."_

"The marionette's been taken care of."

There was a slight pause as muffled conversation took place on the other end of the line._ "He said the puppet's dust."_

"_That was an easy mission. Let's pack it up then – I can make it home in time for some quality programming."_

"_Did Daniel Jackson not wish to inspect the contents of the locker?"_

"_Right, right. Of course he did. Dean, you reckon you could tee that up with Robby?"_

"_Bobby."_

"_Same difference."_

"_Right."_ The muffling ended. _"Hey, Bobby..."_

Bobby wished he could cut him short, say he didn't have time for this and hang up. That Sam could be in perilous danger and that Dean was holding him up. But the truth was, Bobby didn't have any leads – no how, no why (well they were _demons_, Bobby supposed they didn't need one), and more importantly, no where. And if Bobby were to admit to himself, he didn't want to hang up on him. So he sat through the background conversation and answered when it finally came back to him.

"Listen, we've got a bit of a problem here. I need you to haul ass to Chicago as fast as you can, I'll explain the details when you get here." No need to tell him about Sam just yet, Bobby decided. Premature worrying wouldn't help anyone.

There was a pause. _"We can be there in nine hours."_

"Good." Bobby hung up a shifted his cap. He wasn't the Dean he knew, but he was a Dean. And that sure as hell was better than nothing.

Now, Bobby needed to find some more information so he wasn't _ummi_ng and _uhh_ing like some gawky schoolboy when Dean showed up.

.-.-.

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that the surroundings weren't familiar. The second thing he noticed was that his head wasn't hurting from the usual blow that signified how he had been caught. The third contradicted both the first and the second in the form of thick, tight ropes that bound him to chair.

"Well look who's finally awake."

Sam sighed. _Demons then_.

He looked across the empty warehouse to the figure that stepped under the dimmed overhanging light. She was in her early twenties; brunette and adorable would be the only way to describe her. But the hellspawn that was currently riding her body made her demeanour something just so _other_ that it was hard to buy into her innocent act.

She stopped in front of Sam, and turned her head to the side ever so slightly. "It's been a while, Sam."

Sam wasn't really in the mood to go through the motion with some demon, he had a lot on his mind as it was. He decided to get it over with as soon as possible. "Am I supposed to know you?" He drawled.

She pouted. "You don't remember me? I'm so cut Sam. And I went to all this trouble to arrange this meeting in one of our most memorable places."

"A warehouse?" Sam mocked.

She just smiled and encouraged him to, "Think bigger."

Earth was probably a little too big to think, but aside from that, he had no idea where he was outside of the warehouse. They could have taken him anywhere.

_Which would make this game moot_. So where was he last? "Chicago." And it clicked. "Meg."

"Aww now see, you do remember." Yeah, that smile was starting to get creepy.

"How did you find me?" It was a stupid question to ask, but Sam was curious and it slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Oh, I've been tracking you for a while now, Sammy boy. Waiting. And then when the opportunity presented itself, I just... couldn't resist."

"Good for you." Seriously, what was it about demons and monologuing?

"It was good for me." Meg swallowed every word of Sam's sarcasm with that cocky grin. She had a card up her sleeve and Sam was getting the impression she was about to play it. "Poor, grieving Sam – a hopeless wreck. Needing his brother so badly he'll latch onto the first scrap of resemblance he sees."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean had only been in this reality for a few hours, how the hell did she know about him?

"You sure about that?" She held out a hand, as if gesturing for someone to step forward.

Familiar boots strolled across the floor. They stopped in front of Sam, hidden underneath a pair of khaki military-issue pants.

"Hey Sam," Dean said.

Sam stared in disbelief, looking for some sort of clue as to what the hell was going on. Dean seemed to notice and gave him his patented _you're an idiot_ look. The his eyes flashed. _Happy now?_

No, Sam wasn't happy at all. If the Dean before him was a shapeshifter, it raised a lot more questions in Sam's mind, worrisome ones.

Meg smiled at the look on Sam's face. "He's good, isn't he? Only needed to touch Dean once and ta-da!" She put a hand in his hair, rather like a master with a pet dog.

The shifter rolled his eyes, which just didn't look right to Sam. If anything, it looked like Dean – the _shifter_ – was trying not to flinch.

Sam filed the observation away for later and faced Meg. "So, what's the plan? You send him back to the other reality, raise a little hell there?"

Meg laughed, loud and hollow. "You mean you actually bought that whole 'he's really Dean, just from another reality' schtick?" She shook her head. "Sammy Sam Sam – I thought you were smarter than that."

Sam smirked. "Wish I could say the same. _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus_-"

A hard punch to the jaw stopped Sam before he could go any further. There was something in the shifters' eyes, but when Sam tried to focus on it, it disappeared under Dean's bored expression.

"Now now, none of that." Meg waggled her finger at him. "I'm not going to have to rip your tongue out, now am I?" Her smirk suggested she wasn't adverse to the idea.

"If it was all a trick, then what's the grand plan?" Sam hoped her need to gloat would override her intelligence. If the condescending look she gave him was any indication, he was right.

"There is no _grand plan,_" she scoffed, "there is just fun. And right now my fun involves that look on your face when you realise that this was all a lie, and every second you bought into it you left the real Dean dancing the Hell Block Tango; completely forgetting him in favour of the first substitute you could find.

"So tell me Sam, how does it feel?"

"Fine." Sam bit out. "Never better."

Meg's smile widened, distorting her face into a truly terrifying sight. "Come now Sam, how does it _really_ feel? Tell you what," she clapped her hands, "I'll give you some time to think it over. Just you and your thoughts." She waved the shifter away. After he left, she started to follow him out the door.

"Take all the time you need."

The second the door shut, Sam tried to find a way out of his ropes. Unfortunately, not being Superman, he was stuck. He looked around for some source of inspiration, anything that would free him, or even distract him from Megs' words bouncing around in his head.

As the seconds drove on, Sam found himself slowly growing desperate in his head to ignore the growing urge to _think_. There had to be something to – _concentrate!_ – help him (_distract him)_ out of this mess.

_Dean would find something_.

Sam sighed. Dean wouldn't be finding much of anything, because he was currently in Hell being tortured. And all it took was a likeness to completely divert Sam from his brother's plight.

_So tell me Sam, how does it feel?_

But it was longer than that. Since Dean had died, Sam had spent two weeks holed up at Bobby's doing nothing to help him. Dean was dead, and Sam let him stay that way.

_Come now Sam, how does it _really_ feel?_

It felt terrible. Actually it felt worse than terrible. As he tried to discern how he felt he had an epiphany; each and every thought on Dean's life, death, and Sam's role before, after and during the event flew through Sam's mind in an instant. Their speed and force ripping right through Sam's soul with a combined clarity that left a puncture so big that all his emotions tumbled out after it. He was empty. He felt nothing.

As his mind reached that conclusion it shut down, every sense and thought process turned off, his body reflecting his mental state.

He didn't even think to cry.

.-.-.

"Now there's our money shot!" Meg returned to the warehouse sometime later with that ever-present smile.

Sam was oblivious to it. The colour had long drained from his face, and he was barely managing to blink and breathe. His catatonic state had started a good hour before the shifter had returned some time ago.

Said shifter was currently leaning against the far wall, staring at Sam with an unreadable expression. At Meg's entrance, he came to stand next to her in front of Sam.

Meg cocked a head at her victim. "Bring him back to Earth."

The shifter crouched down in front of Sam and gave his shoulder a gentle shove. Then gave his face a slap. Then a punch. The shifter then glanced at Meg who offered no instruction. He sighed and looked back at Sam.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam's head slowly tilted up. "Dean?" His blurry eyes took in the shifter and then Meg. His brow furrowed as he tried to figure it out. When he did, he resumed staring off into nothing. It was like he didn't care.

Meg did though, and she snaked a hand out to clutch his chin. "Not so fast, Sammy."

"What do you want?" The words were dull, rote. Sam wasn't really here, but Meg didn't seem to mind.

"What do I want? That's a good question." She thought it over. "I suppose I want you dead. You're already broken, so I can't really see a use for you anymore. Buuuut, I want you to ask for it." She amended, a spark in her eyes. "I want you to _beg_ for it. What do you say, Sam? Had enough yet?"

A steady breathing was her only reply.

"That's okay I got time." She stroked his cheek before leaving this time.

The shifter watched Sam; the concern on his face so very_ Dean_ that, if Sam were to have noticed it, he could have been fooled into thinking it was his brother all over again.

.-.-.

"What would a goa'uld want with Sam?"

"Demons, Jack."

"Same difference."

"From what Bobby has described, I believe there are several noticeable differences, Colonel O'Neill. The lack of a symbiote, for one."

"And that is worth mentioning, why?"

"Without a physical entity possessing Sam Winchester, it may be difficult to terminate the creature with a physical weapon."

"So you're saying we can't shoot him?" Jack looked down at his P90. "That sucks."

Dean held up a hand. "Nobody's shooting anybody."

"He could shoot us."

Dean glared at Jack.

"I'm just saying he _could_... if he had a gun..."

Bobby scrubbed a hand across his face. "Sam isn't the one possessed, ya idjits."

Winchester blinked. "Oh, then I take back the 'no shooting' policy."

"And I take back... whatever." Jack added. "So, how are we supposed to kill this _demon?_"

"You can't, you can only send it back to Hell."

"Hell?" Jack echoed.

"Yeah, apparently not just a planet in the Milky Way."

"Hunh." Jack and Dean both turned to Bobby. "So, how does one... exorcise a demon? And is there pea soup involved?"

From the look on Bobby's face, it appeared he appreciated Jack's humour about as much as Dean's. "Latin."

"I don't know Latin," Dean said.

"You don't have to know it, you just have to say it."

"Okay, how do you say it?"

"_Exorcizamus te_..."

"Hold on, let me get a pen." Jack fumbled around in his pockets until he found a small notepad and pen. "Okay, _exorcizamus te_ – what next?"

Dean thought it just made Bobby all the more awesome that he didn't even blink. "_Omnis immundus spiritus..._"

Jack scratched down the words. "Unclean spirits, check."

Winchester frowned and leaned over to peer at O'Neill's notepad. He didn't know much about Latin, but if he had to guess he'd say Jack's spelling was eerily accurate. At least for Jack anyway.

"When did you learn Latin?"

"Daniel taught me one day."

Deans' eyebrows rose. " 'One day'?"

"It was a long day."

"You girls finished yammerin'?"

They both stopped short at Bobbys' words. Dean looked chastised and Jack inclined his head. "I am sorry. Please continue."

Choosing to ignore the comment, Bobby spelled out the rest of the exorcism.

When he finished, Jack flipped the notepad shut and placed it back in its pocket. "Okay, exorcism done. What else?"

Bobby reached into the Imapala's trunk and handed the men a shotgun each.

"I thought you said we couldn't shoot them?" Dean flipped the barrel open to look inside.

"It's filled with salt – it deters spirits and weakens demons."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I remember Sam saying something about that."

Bobby then passed them a flask of holy water.

Jack beat Dean to it this time, "You serious?"

Bobby just looked at him.

"So what, are we just supposed to throw this on them?"

"You got a better idea?" Bobby challenged.

Jack's mouth hung open as he tried to think of an alternative.

"We don't have time to go buy water pistols," Dean reminded him.

"I wasn't going to say that." He looked at Teal'c, "I wasn't."

"Okay," Dean summised, "holy water, salt, exorcism. Now if that's everything – Where's Sam?"

Bobby was kind of dreading getting to this point.


	13. Stage 4b

Stage IV/B – Rock Bottom

* * *

A wise person once said that, "I am my thoughts. If they exist in her, Buffy contains everything that is me and she becomes me. I cease to exist." Now, while the shapeshifter that was currently calling itself Dean did remember being a nine-year old girl who saw that particular episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, the underlying meaning of the sentiment was forgotten in favour of the four flavours of ice cream that were served up for dessert at that particular slumber party, and the way a bubbly brunette named Janet had screamed when her supposed best friend had pushed her off the second story balcony.

Now, if he _had_ given the line some thought, he might interpret it to apply to himself, implying that by taking on the memories of another entity, then those memories would not only define the person with whom they were created, but also the creature that can recall each of them with startling clarity. They would seep into the mind of the being that borrowed them, subtly altering their own persona from the inside out. The memory of how the person walked would unconsciously result in a mimicked gait, for example.

The shapeshifter knew this, and had in fact experienced it on many occasions. What it was currently trying to come to terms with were other memories; memories that were so strong they couldn't be quelled as easily as ones he was accustomed to. He remembered running, running so hard that his legs were past the point of burning and he was uncertain whether or not his next step would be the last he would be able to take – All of it done to prove to his C.O. that he was willing to go that extra mile on a mission. He remembered remaining silent in front of a board of unimpressed members of the IOA, asking why he put a one-point-two million dollar piece of equipment in jeopardy so he could go off on a foolhardy mission to rescue someone when he was strictly ordered not to. He remembered taking a month's leave on PX2-381 to be with Tila, a woman whose name made his heart skip a beat. He remembered taking a bullet for Stanson on more than one occasion, and the resolute willingness to do it again. He remembered all that and more–things that never actually happened to him. Things that he wished had.

Since assuming his form after meeting the owner at a phone shop, the shifter had quickly learned that Dean Winchester was not a man who did things by half. His feelings were often carefully hidden under a mask of indifference, but the raw emotion that lay underneath still raged fiercely. Honour, determination, endurance, love, faith, loyalty – qualities that the shifter knew of but never actually put much stock in – they were all turned up to eleven with Winchester. For the first time in longer than it could remember, the shifter wanted to actually _be_ Dean Winchester, if only to experience these memories firsthand. To understand any and all sensation to its fullest extent and be able to call it _living_.

Which is why, when it came to the battle of wills currently taking place in the shape-shifter's head, the memories of Dean Winchester were currently winning.

While such an epic clash transpired in one mind, less than twenty metres away the opposite took place. Sam's mind juxtaposed the shifter's puzzled, strained and almost frantic activity in much the same way a barren desert contrasted the bustle of a city. There were no half-constructed thought patterns or flurries of deliberation; just a constant vacuum sucking in despair. It didn't ebb and it didn't flow, it didn't do much of anything except just _be_, and that was something that Sam found he couldn't take anymore.

"Stop." His voice was barely a whisper, as though he had shouted himself hoarse and there was nothing left.

Whether she had impeccable timing or the ability to sense when the last of Sam's resolve crumbled was unknown, but Meg chose that moment to stroll back into the warehouse, a cheerful tune whistling through her lips. "Something tells me today's my lucky day, what do you say Sam, hmm?"

She leaned down in front of him, her neck twisting this way and that as her eyes tried to make contact with his. In a rare moment of lucidity, they connected and Sam spoke.

"Make it... Stop."

Her eyes lit up and she smiled with a childlike joy. "Make what stop, Sam?"

"All... All of it."

"All of what, Sam?"

Unfortunately he was past playing her games, and reverted to repeating "stop" in slow, haggard breaths.

Meg straightened. "Well, now you're just no fun." She turned to the shifter. "You can kill him now."

He could, but for some reason, he didn't want to. Instead he asked, "Don't you want to?"

"Nah, it's not worth it. But you... There's an element of irony in it: being killed by something he hunts, that looks like his brother – it's in there, I'm sure."

Actually, there wasn't as far as the shifter could tell, but it wasn't about to tell Meg that. The demon possessed a kind of detached insanity that unsettled the shifter. And if he wasn't going to stand up to her on that, he definitely didn't want to tell her that he didn't want to kill Sam. That kind of left him in an awkward position.

"Today, skippy!" She flicked her fingers in a 'come here' gesture, and the shifter felt himself being shoved across the floor towards them.

"Look, I..."

"Dean?"

Standing this close to Sam, his voice had managed to penetrate some layer of Sam's sub-subconscious.

Meg thought this was great, and pulled out a knife. "Quick, before he realises who you really are." She tossed it to him.

_Who you really are_. Who was he really, anymore? He thought he kn-

"Oh, _Jesus_!" Meg rolled her eyes. "You want something done right..."

The next thing he saw was black billowing out of the young girl and into him. Normally a shapeshifter had the strength of will to fight off a demon, but considering this one was currently preoccupied with its own internal battle he didn't stand much of a chance.

.-.-.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"What... What's..."

"It's a long story, I'll explain later. Right now I need you to stand."

"I... Can't."

"Oh. Well, that's too bad."

Enough of the fog had cleared from Sam's mind that he could focus on what was in front of him. His eyes widened in fear.

"No."

"Don't worry about it Sammy, a few centuries down in the pit and you'll have a bitchin' pair just like me." Black eyes smiled at him, but the mirth had transformed into something cruel and dark.

Sam didn't register it though. Face to face with his greatest fear, all he could see was those black eyes and what they implied. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean sighed. "I know. You let me down, Sam. You just left me there."

"I'm so sorry." Sam's eyes teared up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, you sound like a broken record. At least tell me you tried, geez."

"I..." Sam fumbled.

"Now _that_ is worth it." Dean smiled at the look on Sam's face. He raised his blade.

It was only instinct that made Sam lean back when Dean slashed down with the knife. The weapon missed his throat but managed to catch his legs, slicing clean through the jeans and into the flesh.

The pain was a siren in Sam's head. His body jolted back into action, not so much that he felt he could take on ten men (or even five), but enough that he could muster the energy to free himself from the ropes binding him.

"Tsk-tsk, Sam, you're going to bleed all over the floor now." Dean reared back and kicked the chair, splintering the frame and allowing Sam the wiggle room to escape. "Not that you wouldn't before."

Sam looked up at his brother. They way his eyebrow twitched was very unlike Dean. In fact, if he had to put a name to it, he'd say it looked like... Meg.

Sam threw off the last rope and scrambled back. "You're not Dean."

"'Course I am," Dean scoffed.

And then it all came back. John's locker/the mirror/the other Dean/shooting Talley/the marionette/Dean leaving/Bobby and the Crematorium in Chicago/waking up in the warehouse/Meg/the shapeshifter. Sam didn't remember much during his comatose state, but he managed to piece it all together.

"What, you have to do everything yourself?" he sneered at her current host.

Meg shrugged. "Good help is so hard to find these days."

They circled each other. Meg smirked. "Gotta say I'm impressed. Not many people come back from that Sammy-o." She stopped walking. "Of course, you did crack in the end, so I'm kinda past interest in you now." She reached a hand out and beckoning him forward. An unseen force started to push Sam towards Meg, and right into the path of the knife she held.

"_Exorcizamus te_, o_mnis immundus spiritus..._"

Suddenly Sam dropped out of the air as Meg stumbled. In one fluid movement, Sam reached out and twisted the blade around, burying it in Meg's stomach.

Her eyes bugged, and Sam had to remind himself yet again that this was not his brother. When she saw he was not fooled, she threw a punch that sent him flying across the warehouse.

He landed on the same side all his injuries had been occurring on lately, and supposed he should be thankful that he only had to limp with one leg instead of two. Still, it didn't help that the crash had re-opened his bullet wound.

And he wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that Meg was gone by the time he looked up.


	14. Stage 4c

This is for I'mcalledZorro, Gale662, Lunatic Pandora1, snails-on-the-french-riviera, CalamityJim, ThomEGemcity-06 and Doc Ragnarock; who all expressed an interest in how this story ends.

* * *

Stage IV/C – A Swirl of Confusion

* * *

"So we're going to wave a crystal around and hope that it magically points us to Sam?" Dean seemed hesitant. "Is this before or after we put Yani on and bless Mother Earth?"

"Unfortunately the demons who took Sam didn't leave behind a forwarding address, so this is the best we got."

Dean raised his hands in surrender as Bobby rolled a map of America onto the bonnet of the Impala.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "What, you don't think they hopped a plane to the Caribbean?"

"The demons have had sufficient time to cross a large distance. We have been absent for three days, O'Neill." Teal'c reminded him.

Dean noticed Bobby had halted in his actions. "What? Is that it?"

Bobby frowned at the crystal attached to the lock of Sam's hair. "It didn't work."

While it was easy to insert another remark, Dean instead opted for something productive. As Teal'c had said, three days had passed and the unease in Dean's stomach had grown threefold on the drive to Chicago. "Is there something else we can do then? Some other magic flim-flam or should we consider giving this a practical approach?"

Bobby's glare told him exactly what he thought of Dean's backhanded comment, and replied. "The hair was not a strong enough link."

"Well, it's got his DNA in it, what more do you want?"

Bobby considered. "Blood."

"Blood?" Jack shared a look with Dean. "Uhh, why exactly?"

"Blood is power."

"Right, right. Blood is power. That explains why vampires are always after it. Perhaps we give them a pamphlet on the benefits of going Solar, it's a lot more eco-friendly."

When Dean snickered at Jack's remark, Bobby couldn't help but feel like a kindergarten teacher. He was beginning to think it was a mistake in bringing DoppelDean and his friends here.

Thankfully Teal'c's presence helped to bring the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Would it not be difficult to obtain a sample of Sam Winchester's blood, given his absence?"

Though Teal'c had been the one to voice it, the thought had already occurred to Dean, as did the memory of Sam getting shot during their first encounter. Dean had dressed that wound and some of the blood had ended up on his clothes, mixed in with that of Sergeant Gate...

It suddenly occurred to Dean that he hadn't spared Bert a thought since his death, which seemed oh-so long ago now. They'd been friends for years, and aside from Stanson he was the person with whom he had actively served with the longest. And then he died, and all Dean could think about was the mission – which was completely understandable. You push those thoughts to the back of your head so you can focus on the task at hand and get out alive. Except that he hadn't been doing that. Since arriving in this reality, Dean had been easily distracted by the presence of his brother and the unresolved tensions that both his life and death had pertained. In fact, Dean could safely say that since meeting this world's Sam, it was all he'd been thinking about. Yet he couldn't even manage to spare a moment for a friend who meant a great deal more than a brother he barely knew? And that's not even mentioning Sergeant Wills. What was he doing? He was messed up. He need to get this shit sorted in his head before it snowballed. Later though, right now he had work to do.

Dean cleared his throat. "I might have some of his blood on my clothes from when he was shot."

The silence that met his statement was a disconcerting. Jack's 'awkward' face was not helping matters.

"Winchester, can I talk with you a second?" Turning to Bobby he unnecessarily repeated, "We're just gonna talk for a second." He even pointed to where he expected Dean and himself to be standing, before heading over there.

Dean followed Jack over to the side. "What?"

"You sure you're alright?" Jack shifted so he was blocking Bobby and Teal'c from the conversation, as though seeing them might distract Dean from the importance of what he was saying. "If you're emotionally compromised, we can send you back. I'll make sure we follow this up though. Find your brother."

Dean was a little taken aback by Jack's observation, and truth be told his mental preoccupation wasn't helping him pull off a convincing reply. Or any reply, really, because Jack went on to explain,

"Robby just said that you might have gotten Sam's blood on your clothes when he was shot, but considering you changed when you got back to the SGC it doesn't really help us much, unless you want to spend another day going back there to get them."

Dean looked down at his uniform. He had changed when he got back to the SGC, how could he have forgotten about that? And more importantly, how did he not hear Bobby say any of that?

"So if you feel like..."

"I'm fine, Jack."

He seemed unconvinced. "I've been hearing that a lot from you."

"Truth is, I was rethinking over everything that happened here, trying to see if I missed something. Just zoned a little, I guess."

Jack still seemed hesitant, but he let it go for now. "Irony aside, you might want to pay a little more attention." It was as subtle an order as Dean had ever heard from O'Neill. Usually something like that would be accompanied with a joke.

"Yeah, I will. Thanks, Jack."

"No problem." Jack clapped his hands together. "Anyway, while you were off with the fairies, Robby said that since his crystal thing didn't work, the next option is to," Jack opened his hands in offering, " 'commune with nature' in hopes of some Earth deity answering the call, or something."

Dean frowned. "And how is he going to do that?"

"Naked, apparently."

"That is not something I want to see." Too late, the image appeared in his head. "Oh God, I'm seeing it. Oh God."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about that, you won't be seeing much."

That seemed like a loaded comment. "Why not?"

"Robby says that for it to work, it has to be someone with a tie to the person they're trying to find..."

Dean figured out where this was going. "No. _Hell_ no. You gotta be shittin me."

Jacks' eyes twinkled. "You really didn't hear anything he said, did you?"

"You are shittin' me."

Jack clapped him on the shoulder and started back to Teal'c. "Come on, hopefully they'll have figured something out by now."

"Two hundred lectures, now."

"It's not my fault you fell for it."

"Considering all that this mission has entailed thus far, can you blame me?"

Jack considered. "No, I guess not."

"Two hundred lectures."

Jack silently congratulated himself on being able to distract Dean enough from whatever was preoccupying his mind. What he didn't know was that it wasn't going to last for long.

"Hey T, where's Robby?"

"Bobby is currently packing his belongings in the car after receiving a call from Sam Winchester." Teal'c informed them.

"Sam?" Dean jumped in. "Is he okay?"

"It is uncertain at this time, though Bobby did seem rather concerned."

The squeal of tyres brought their attention to the battered car that was currently peeling out of the parking lot.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore, and ran to the Impala to follow.

"Winchester – Hey, Dean!" Jack called after him. But it was too late. Dean had taken off as fast as Bobby had, leaving Jack and Teal'c standing in the parking lot of a funeral home in Chicago.

After a few seconds silence, Teal'c opened his mouth to speak. Jack cut him off with a raised finger and pulled his radio out of his pocket and turned it on. "Winchester, please tell me you left the keys to the rental behind."

It rattled off static for a few seconds before Dean replied, "_In the ignition._"

"Thank God for that." Back into the radio, he said. "Don't do anything stupid."

"_Well, I was going to, but now that you mention it-"_

"I'm serious."

A beat. _"Copy that."_

"Check in, one hour."

"_Copy."_

Jack turned off his radio and checked his watch. "Speaking of checking in..." He pulled out his new phone and dialled one of the four numbers saved.

"_Sir?"_ Carter answered.

"Report."

"_We appeared to have found several pieces of alien technology, including a ZPM."_

Jack was surprised. "Got any juice left?"

A pause. _"We don't know, sir. You told us not to open them."_

"Well if it's a ZPM obviously you can."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "_The boys are running diagnostics on it now. We should know soon. How is everything going there?_"

Teal'c started to head for the last car in the lot and Jack followed him. "It's shaping up to be quite the long story, full of insanity and woe."

"_I look forward to reading your report, sir."_

"Oh, you will. I expect a Pulitzer for it. Or at least the science-fiction equivalent."

"_Or perhaps the classified government file equivalent?"_

"Well, some kind of reward at any rate, and possibly a trophy." Jack slid into the driver seat, happy to find the keys in the ignition. "Two hours, and try to keep Daniel from opening the other cases."

"_Will do, sir."_

He hung up the phone and looked over to Teal'c. "How do you feel about ice cream?"

.-.-.

It didn't take Dean long to catch up to Bobby, despite how fast the man was navigating the streets. When he finally pulled to a stop it was outside an abandoned warehouse, and Dean didn't have to ask why. Lying on the ground not far from the entrance was Sam, and he wasn't moving.

Dean was out of the car in a blink, and tearing across the pavement. "Sam!"

He skidded to a halt by his side, and took in his appearance. His shoes were missing and his shirt had been ripped apart to serve as a bandage to the mortal wound on his side, held in place by his belt. His thigh had been slashed and the bullet wound in his leg had re-opened. Dean reached over for a pulse just as Bobby appeared. He took in the scene and waited for Dean to announce the verdict.

A pulse. Barely registering and widely spread, but a sign of life none the less. Dean immediately checked his airway and started CPR. "Call an ambulance," He instructed Bobby as he counted compressions. While Bobby was immersed in the phone call, Dean focused on the task of saving his brothers' life.

_...Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Breathe. Breathe. One, two, three, four..._

It just wasn't fair. And not in a petty, 'I want my candy back' way, but in a larger, universal sense. He'd spent most of his life ignoring his _–breathe- _brother unless he wanted something, and now that he was dead, he was finally starting to realise all the things they had in common, or could have had. He was beginning to form the kind of bond he should have had with the brother in his reality, and just when it _–breathe-_ seemed enough to totally mess with his fuckin mind, the bastard had to go and die on him again. How was that fair? It was like a cruel twist on _A Christmas Carol_, making him realise that he never appreciated his brother while he _–breathe- _was alive, and thus giving him the chance to do so, only to realise that it's all moot because in the end he's still dead.

It was a grasp of the situation he had somewhere in his mind, but was buried beneath layers of erratic thoughts ranging from _breathe, damnit!_ to _how did this happen?_ to how this all didn't make any _sense_. All the things that had been happening lately had seeded doubt to the certainties of life by which he lived by, and they were adding up. A normal person, when confronted with such doubts, would take a minute and either a) reaffirm their belief on the matter, or b) if they evidence was unrelenting they would alter their perception of the world to accommodate it. There was a third option in this scenario, and that was c) ignore it until a later date. Unfortunately, that's all Dean had been doing, and all it did was serve as fuel to an even bigger crisis of faith. If those things didn't make sense, how did anything make sense? How did life make sense? When doubt culminates to such an enormity it can overwhelm the mind, leaving it open for anything to slip in, such as depression in Sam's case. Or in Dean's, a demon that was currently hiding in the body of the shape shifter he was unknowingly trying to save.


	15. Stage 5

Stage V - Acceptance  
(_a.k.a. It Is What It Is_)

* * *

Bobby was giving the emergency dispatcher the location of the warehouse when he noticed Dean straighten. It was so abrupt that he ignored the voice on the other end and called out, "Dean?"

"He's... He's dead."

Dean rose to his feet, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Bobby hung up the phone and watched Dean carefully. His back was turned, but Bobby could still tell that he was trying to process it. Bobby knew this wasn't the Dean he'd known over the years, the one he had a soft spot for and had taken in as his own, but he was still Dean Winchester, and that had to count for something. Bobby had watched him interact with Sam, and though there were a few differences – most due to fact he obviously wasn't as close with his brother as was the case in this reality – he was still Dean. He still had the same cocky smile and the same dedication to his work. Bobby even noticed that he even displayed the same protective, brotherly bond, even though it was with_... _Stanson(?) instead of Sam. They were, more or less, the same person.

Except that now his wasn't. Dean had just given up and declared his brother dead. While Bobby could concede that this Dean wouldn't know about crossroads, he clearly knew how to give CPR, and would have to be aware of the obligation to continue it until an ambulance arrived, heartbeat or no heartbeat. But this Dean had just accepted the idea and all but surrendered. Bobby couldn't help the surfacing impression that Dean wanted Sam to be dead. Was that what this was? Did this Dean just want it all over and done with so he could return home, obligation-free?

Of course not. It was just an errant thought that sprung up before he could quash it. Still, there was something going on, and Bobby had his answer when he saw Sam's hand spasm. Slowly, Bobby's hand went to his flask, cursing that he left his shotgun in the car.

Whether he saw or sensed that something had changed, Dean turned around and fixed Bobby with a cold smirk. "Not buying it, huh? Tell you what, if you get that flask open before I pull Deano's gun out from behind his back and shoot you, I will officially acknowledge that you are the coolest hunter I've ever killed. How does that sound?"

They stood at an impasse. Bobby all-to-aware of Sam's urgency, and the demon quite comfortable to waste that time secure in the knowledge that Bobby wouldn't be the faster drawer.

But Robert Singer wasn't a hunter for nothing, and he sure as hell wasn't born yesterday. He grabbed his flask and shouted, "Christo." The second's distraction was enough for Bobby to get the lid off and toss holy water on Dean, who flinching away from the scalding liquid.

"Bobby Singer, you sly son of a bitch!" The demon ducked out of the way of the water and was chuckling. "I must say this brings back memories. All we need is a chair, some ropes, your ceiling and this could very-well be it. What do you say, third time lucky?"

"Meg," Bobby bit the word out, tossing a little holy water for emphasis.

Meg sidestepped the spray and held up a finger in warning. "Ah ah ah, don't damage the merchandise. I got plans for this one."

Bobby didn't have time to process that statement, but he did gather that it had something to do with whatever reality Dean came from, which could only end badly. "_Exorciz-_"

Meg made a fist, and Bobby felt his throat close up. "Fool me once, Bobby. Anyway, I don't want you dead, not just yet. I'm thinking of going through the ole looking glass, getting your double, and then bringing him back here so you can watch me slice him up like a pizza." Megs' eyes lit up as an idea occurred to him. "Maybe he has a wife – maybe he has kids. Ooh, won't that be interesting? I'm getting tingles just thinking about it."

Whatever came next was drowned out by the pressure in Bobbys' ears. The air loss was already causing his vision to blot, and he knew it wasn't long now before he...

.-.-.

Jack eyed Teal'c's purchase with a frown.

"Is something wrong, O'Neill?"

"No, no," He turned back to his choc-mint. "Just didn't figure you for a bubblegum kind of guy, is all."

Teal'c inspected his ice cream. "It is not often one gets to try a food in the colour of blue."

"What about that blueberry pie we had the other day?"

"I believe they are purple."

"Really? Purple?" A drop of his neglected ice cream fell onto his hand. Jack licked it off.

"Indeed."

"Hunh."

They each tasted their choices, savouring the flavour.

"How does it measure up?"

"I find it most satisfactory."

"That's good." Jack slipped his cone out of the paper cover, munching into the waffley-goodness. He shoved his bite to the side of his mouth, so he could both chew and talk at the same time. "Hey Teal'c, let me ask you something." He paused to swallow. "Does that look like Sam Winchester to you?"

Teal'c looked across the street, where a tall, haggard man was limping. "He does seem to resemble the photo supplied in the briefing." Teal'c agreed.

"That's good enough for me – Hey, Sam!" Jack jogged across the street, Teal'c following at a slower pace, as he still had much of his ice cream to finish.

Sam stopped and eyed them suspiciously.

Jack dusted the crumbs off his hands before raising them in a non-threatening manner. Teal'c, still licking his ice cream, did not look threatening at all. Which was possibly a first.

"We're friends of Dean. Your brother from another..." Should he change it, or keep to the original? "...Mother. In a way."

Sam still seemed dubious, so Jack pulled out his military credentials. When that didn't seem to sway him, Jack laid it out as simple as he could. "Look, either we're who we say we are, or we're from this reality, in which case we'd be arresting you, considering you're a fugitive."

"Or you're a shapeshifter," Sam replied.

Jack's mouth gaped a little as he took that in. He turned to Teal'c. "Teal'c, are you a shapeshifter?"

"I don't believe so."

"Right. Well, I'm not a shapeshifter, and he's not a shapeshifter." Beat. "Though if I was a shapeshifter I guess I'd say that anyway." He waved it off. "But I'm sure you guys have some sort of test for that, right?"

Sam looked between the two. "You got a flashlight?"

Jack searched his pockets whilst Teal'c retrieved one. Jack ended up passing that over. Sam clicked it on and directed it in their eyes. Teal'c merely blinked, Jack on the other hand raised a hand and started to curse.

"For crying out loud, what was that for?"

Sam clicked off the flashlight and handed it back. "You're not a shapeshifter."

"No, but I am blind. You do know those are designed for long-range?"

Sam waited as Jack rubbed his eyes and blinked away the spots. "Do you know where Dean is?"

"Yeah, he took off after Robby after you rang him."

Sam frowned. "I never rang Dean."

"Not Dean, the other one, Robby."

"I believe his name was Bobby."

Jack turned to Teal'c, "You sure?"

Teal'c nodded.

"I never rang Bobby either. I don't have a cell." Sam suddenly realised what was going on. "Do you have a car?"

"Yeah, why?"

"We've got to get back to the warehouse."

Jack took Sam's expression at face value. "Then let's move out. T, you can finish that in the car."

.-.-.

When Jack, Sam and Teal'c arrived at the warehouse it was Bobby who was lying unmoving on the ground. They piled out of the car, Jack and Teal'c checking the perimeter while Sam approached Dean, who was trying to rouse Bobby.

Dean pulled a gun on Sam before he realised who it was. Slowly he clicked the safety back on and turned back to Bobby. "He's alive. Out cold though."

"Let's get him to the car." Sam reached for Bobby's feet as Dean picked up his shoulders. "What happened to your shirt?"

Dean seemed surprised at the question, and had to look down to confirm that his shirt wasn't actually there. He looked around for it, and Sam eventually spotted it in a puddle of blood and the oh-so tantalising mixture of a shifter's skin.

He arrived at the logical conclusion. "Let me guess, it was me?"

Dean nodded. "And dying. Bobby saw through it though." Before Sam could ask, Dean went on to say, "It's back to me again, and it's headed for the SGC."

"What's headed for the SGC?" Jack appeared at the other side of the car, pocketing his gun and flashlight.

"Demon." Sam replied. "In the body of a shapeshifter."

"I'm guessing that's bad?"

Dean lowered Bobby's head into the back seat of his car. "It's like a double no-no."

"Wouldn't that be no-no-no-no?"

"No." Dean replied. "Anyway, you better call it in, the sucker got my phone."

"Was it in your shirt pocket?" Jack flipped open his phone. "Carter? It's me."

The voice on the other end seemed hesitant. "_Sir..."_

"Don't let Winchester back through the mirror, apparently he's a shapeshifting demon or something like that."

There was a pause. _"How can we be sure you're you, sir?"_

"Because I am me." Jack automatically replied.

"_Colonel Winchester called in half an hour ago, and said the same thing about you."_

"Well, in that case don't let any of us back through the mirror, We'll be back there A-sap to sort this out." Sam looked like he wanted to say something, so Jack held a hand over the speaker.

"There's a devil's trap in the locker."

"A what?"

Sam held up his hands in a circle. "It's a pentagram with some runes in it."

Dean nodded. "It was in the entry-way."

"Tell them to try and manoeuvre Dean into it, it won't be able to get out."

Jack relayed the message to Carter, and Sam had to reiterate that they actually had to trap Meg ("That's its name") in it, because no demon would knowingly walk into one. Dean went on to say that Meg was also aware that it was there, having his memories at hand.

"Did you get all that?" Jack asked after they finished.

"_Yes sir."_ Carter replied.

"And move the curse boxes back to the SGC, until the threat has passed." Dean added.

Sam looked at him. "I hadn't thought of that."

Dean shrugged and waited for Jack to hang up. "We better haul ass back to the mirror. It's already got at least half an hour on us."

"Would it not be more prudent to fly?" Teal'c suggested.

Dean flinched at the idea, and Sam couldn't help the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Jack seemed to consider the idea, and Dean was quick to rebuke it. "Meg's taken the Impala, which means she's driving."

"She?" Jack echoed.

"He, me – whatever. Point is, he wouldn't be going too fast to risk getting the cops on her tail, they could set up a road block and try and slow her – him, whatever – down."

"Good idea. You two follow him, and we'll see about some wings and possible road spikes."

Sam waited for Dean to shoot down the idea of causing possible harm to the Impala, but it never came. Instead he nodded and hopped into the driver's seat. "Come on, Sam."

Jack and Teal'c were already sprinting back to their rental as Sam slid into the passenger side.

Dean gunned the engine and they were on the I-90 before Sam knew it.

.-.-.

Despite the intention of driving nine hours straight –seven-and-a-half, Dean insisted he could make it in – to Black Rock, they had to make at least one stop for fuel. They also used the opportunity to go to the bathroom and grab some food.

When Sam returned to the car, Dean noted that Bobby still hadn't woken and suggested he might be concussed. Sam agreed that if he hadn't woken by the time they got to Cleveland, that they would leave him at the hospital.

When the twenty minutes passed and they rolled into the city limits, Sam scribbled a note for Bobby, before leaving him at the emergency entrance with one of their fake credit cards.

They hit the road again, and thanks to Sam's surprising knowledge of shortcuts, they managed to skim more time off their trip, before they caught up to Impala.

It was parked in the edge of the road, dangerously close to swerving off. The shredded tyres that littered the highway alerted them to the presence of the road spikes, indicating that Jack had actually followed through with his suggestion.

They drove off the road around the spikes, and pulled up next to the Impala. There was no one in it, though from this angle they could make out the body of a police officer on the ground. Apparently the plan wasn't as successful as they had hoped. Sam instructed Dean to keep driving while he rang an ambulance for the officer, and a tow truck for the Impala, who was more than happy to drop it off at Singer Auto Salvage when he realised how much money he would be getting for the interstate trip.

The rest of the trip wasn't as eventful, with Dean only pumping the gas that little bit more to compensate for the fact that their car didn't have a licence to speed.

.-.-.

They were the last ones to arrive at Black Rock Storage, and rushed into the locker to find the mirror shut off, and the entire group circled around Meg, who was currently stuck in the devil's trap.

His eyes lit up when he spotted them. "It's about time you got here, these poor guys are at their wits end."

"We tried that exorcism Robby – Bobby – gave us," Jack explained its effect with a shrug. "Hell, even Daniel tried it, and if anyone's going to know Latin, it's going to be him."

Daniel stepped forward. "I'm Daniel Jackson," he introduced himself to Sam, "aside from the obvious flaw of mere words being able to dispel a cognisant entity, I couldn't find anything wrong with the exorcism Jack used."

Sam sighed and turned to Meg. "A lock?"

Meg just raised his shirt to reveal a Q burnt into Dean's skin, just under his ribcage. "Don't worry though, I'm going to remove it in a minute." She pulled out a gun, which saw SG-1 drawing theirs in response. What they didn't count on was Meg pointing it at the himself. "Let your friends exorcise me, Sam. And you get to watch your brother die all over again."

"You're not my brother."

Meg smiled knowingly. "No, but at the moment I'm a lot closer than some people in this room."

Sams' eyes shot to Dean, and Sam couldn't believe he didn't notice it himself. The bloodstains on his pant-leg coincided where Sam himself had been shot, and the skin at the warehouse finally fit together. The shifter was telling the truth, it just neglected the mention that it was him. Sam drew his gun. _It would also explain why he called Meg a girl, despite the fact all her current hosts have been male._

Jack seemed to clue in what was happening as well, and pulled out his flashlight. The shifter flinched, and his eyes flashed before he could get his hands up. "Aha!" Jack cried, happy to see it work.

"Did you hurt Bobby?" Sam asked, flicking the safety off.

"No," The shifter insisted, and Sam almost believed him, before he realised his mistake.

"Of course he did, and he _loved itt..._" Meg sing-songed.

The shifter shook its head, but Sam wasn't buying it. "Why are you here?"

"I..." In that second, he looked so honestly vulnerable that Sam forgot he was looking at a monster. It was gone in a blink though. "Bitch jacked my body, I'm here for the payback."

"Sure you are." Meg winked, and then addressed Sam. "Does this seem like a viable threat now? Or should we get Carter to go back and get Deano's birth certificate?"

"You're not my brother," Sam repeated, "My brother's dead."

He'd said it as a bluff, but the words seemed to resonate home with a truth that had been missing before. Dean was dead. Dead. Gone. Sam finally seemed to accept that.

"I don't mean to pun, but aren't you jumping the gun a little there?" Meg said, and pulled the trigger before anyone could get a word in. The bullet broke the lock as promised, as well was tearing through Dean's liver. Black smoke billowed out and was gone before his body hit the ground.


	16. Stage 5a

Stage V/A – Reacting/Resolve

* * *

Sam was at his side before his head hit the floor, one hand pressed to his stomach. Carter was next to him in an instant with a bandage and Jack was ordering Daniel to get the mirror working. Teal'c had subdued the shapeshifter against a wall, and was restraining his arms with some rope he'd found on one of the shelves.

"I've got it!" Daniel said, and switched over to update the SGC on what was going on. There was some talking on radios on their end, and by the time Jack and Sam had gotten Dean to the mirror, they were already pushing a gurney into the room.

"Get him on the table," the doctor ordered, and Jack and Sam complied. After that, they could only watch as he was wheeled down to the operating theatre.

"He'll be fine," Jack reassured Sam.

Even though he didn't believe him, Sam nodded in response.

"Oh, and welcome to Stargate Command."

.-.-.

"We've managed to get him stable."

The doctor had met them in the mess hall, where Jack had suggested Sam wait while he debriefed Hammond on the events thus far. Teal'c was his minder as he technically wasn't allowed on base.

"...But the damage to his liver is irreparable. Without a transplant he's going to die."

"I'll do it," Sam didn't even have to think.

"Are you sure?" At the look on Sam's face, the doctor continued, "I'm obligated to inform you of the risks involved in such a procedure, but before we start, is there anyone you want to contact and let them know?"

Bobby. He should be awake by now. Sam nodded.

"It'll take a few hours to get everything set up, come to the ward when you're ready." And with that the doctor left, and Sam got the impression that the doctor didn't know that he was really in inter-relatial traveller here on probation.

Sam turned to Teal'c, who also rose from his seat. "We should locate Colonel O'Neill."

.-.-.

As Sam was heading back to the mirror, he was tried to remember what had become of his phone. Ultimately he recalled Jack saying that Meg had taken it, and had to do an about-face back to the ward to get it from Dean's pocket. When he found it wasn't there, realised that it would have to be with the shapeshifter, as he was the one that was impersonating Sam.

He told Carter – his current minder – and they set off towards the cells. There was one man at the door, and Carter agreed to wait outside while Sam went in to talk.

He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, still with no shirt, when Sam entered. He looked up at Sam waited.

"Where's my phone?"

The shifter frowned at the question, before something occurred to him and he checked his pockets. He pulled out Sam's phone. "Don't you think it's out of range?" He joked, tossing it over to Sam.

Sam's arm reached through the bars to catch it before it collided with the metal. As he was about to open the door, a question formed. "Why are you here?"

"Teal'c's one scary mo'fo?" The shifter raised his eyebrows.

"No, I mean, why haven't you escaped? It would have been easy for you to slip through the bars and into the vent," Sam gestured to said vent next to his foot. "So why haven't you?"

"One, vents are gross. Seriously, no one ever cleans them." He nodded for emphasis.

"And two?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I wanted to know if he was okay."

"Who?"

The shifter waved his hand in 'ta-da'.

"Why would you care about Dean?"

"I don't expect you to understand." The shifter brushed it off.

"Tell me."

The shifter was content to ignore him. That is, until he saw the resolve on Sam's face. He sighed. "He's someone... He's someone I wouldn't mind being, you know?"

This was the second time a shapeshifter had confessed that Dean was some soulmate. Given their inherent nature, Sam didn't like the implication. He folded his arms. "No, I don't know. I don't go around stealing peoples' lives."

"That's not... Didn't you ever have someone you looked up to?"

Sam couldn't answer that, because he did. And it was the same person the shifter was alluding to.

However the shifter managed to figure it out by his silence. "See, you know where I'm coming from. I just wanted to know if he was okay."

Sam paused. What if the shifter was telling the truth? Given his recent actions, and the fact that he hadn't escaped, Sam was starting to think that maybe the shifter did, on some level, care about Dean. Maybe the whole kindred soul thing didn't have anything to do with Dean's buried emotional issues, but the fact he was just Dean. Sam considered the person before him anew. "He's dying."

The shifter was on his feet. "What does he need? Heart, kidneys – what?"

"Liver," Sam said.

"So take mine. I'm fairly certain it's a match." He smiled sardonically.

Sam was about to ask why again when he realised he already knew, he just had a hard time believing it. "Are you sure about this?" The doctors' words echoed out of his mouth.

The shifter chuckled. "It's just a liver, I'm not going to miss it."

"You're probably the only person who could say that," Sam muttered as he turned to go. The shifter heard him and snorted, lounging back on the cot.

"Would that even work?" Carter asked after Sam relayed the conversation to her outside the room.

"It should. Like he said, at the moment they're identical."

"What about side-effects?"

"I don't think so," Sam answered. "The only way to kill a shifter is with a silver bullet to the heart, which kind of implies that their ability to change is derived from the heart. They grow new sets of teeth when they slip a skin, so it would stand to reason that their internal organs would also change to accommodate the body they're doubling."

"What about the donor?" Sam could tell she had a hard time saying shapeshifter. "Would he survive?"

"He could probably regenerate their entire body as long as the heart wasn't damaged." Sam conceded. "I also don't think he'd offer to do this unless he was going to live. Survival instincts is kind of the reason they exist."

"Adapting to their environment." Carter reasoned. She shrugged. "Well, if you're sure and he consents, I don't see any reason why we can't do the transplant. I'll just run it by General Hammond."

Carter jogged off to do just that, and Sam remembered that he still had his phone in his hand. The guard at the door didn't seem worried that Sam didn't have anyone to escort him, and he took that as a sign. He headed off towards the mirror to call Bobby, all the while thinking of how he wasn't one hundred percent certain that giving Dean an organ from a shapeshifter wouldn't have any side-effects.

.-.-.

"_You WHAT? Sam, did you take a sudden leave of your _senses_?"_

Yep, Bobby was once again conscious. He also wasn't very impressed with Sam's decision. Which wasn't fair, because,

"It's not my decision, Bobby."

"_And you're just going to let your brother go off and get some shifter parts put in him?"_

"He's not my brother, Bobby. He can make his own decisions."

"_Near enough."_ Bobby replied, but still quietened at Sam's admission.

Sam offered a false smile to Stanson, who was watching through the mirror. Apparently he did still need that escort, as he found out when he got to the mirror. Stanson offered to come, having been in the ward with Dean when the news of his possible survival arrived, and wanted to ask Sam about some of the finer points of it. They talked, and Sam realised he could no longer resent the man who had nothing but concern for Dean. Paul then admitted that Dean wanted to go ahead with it, but agreed to wait for Sam to finish his call before relaying what he'd learned to Dean.

"How are you, Bobby?"

"_Fine, or I will be when I can get out of this damn bed."_

Sam smiled, picturing Bobby in a hospital room. He suspected that his main cause for the cantankerous behaviour was the fact he was stuck in one of those gowns. Why they made people wear them was anyone's guess.

"_You let me know how it goes."_

It wasn't a question, but Sam answered anyway, "I will. Talk to you later."

Sam hung up and switched back to Stargate Command to go see Dean.

.-.-.

"Prom date?"

"Jennifer Walker."

"Lucy Miller. And, uhh... Rachel Knave." Dean looked sheepish, and Sam looked at him suspiciously.

"Was that my date?"

"What? No. Don't be ridiculous."

"How could you?"

"I did..." Dean drifted off. "How did you know?"

Sam thought of explaining how his brother had a djinn-induced hallucination that suggested it would be something he'd do. Instead he said, "You're an open book. A picture book. For kids."

"I'll have you know I clean up at poker night. Ask Paul."

"Don't bring me into this."

Dean threw his jello cup at Stanson. "Stop reading, dude. Only robots process that much information."

"Bite me."

"Nuh-uh, I'm not explaining that to your sister again."

Sam watched the byplay with a smirk. There was no jealousy, just a slight wist for the rapport that he shared with his own brother. The conversation was helping. They'd been comparing pasts (generically, Sam kept the gloom of their life to himself) and all Sam heard were differences, and he found he was okay with that.

"Winchester."

"Yes." Dean sat a little straighter in his bed, looking at the doctor expectantly. The operation had been over six hours ago, and already the shifter was up and walking around (back in his cell). Despite the doctor's assertions, Dean also claimed that he was fine, and ready to leave the ward.

"We've checked your results, and it seems you're perfectly healthy."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Dean threw off the covers and swung his leg over the bed.

"This rate of recovery is unprecedented, for normal circumstances." The doctor amended, conceding the rapid recoveries of symbiotes, and other mystical recoveries they'd encountered in the past.

"Tell you what, anything weird starts happening and I'll be straight back here," Dean promised, kicking Stanson out of his chair. "Let's go."

He got as far as the end of the bed when the doctor held his arm. "Anything."

Dean saluted him and, with a smile, jogged out of the ward. Stanson turned to Sam.

"Coming? He'll be in the mess hall. There's pie on Wednesdays."

Sam snorted and followed Stanson out.


	17. Stage 5b

Stage V/B - The Last Goodbye

* * *

"You know, you could stay if you wanted."

"So could you."

"No thanks. I can't even figure out why you do it."

"Someone's got to."

"Then it sucks to be you."

"What about you, why do you serve?"

"They let me blow stuff up."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"I think they're done filching all the alien tech from your _curse boxes_..." Dean still had trouble taking it seriously, despite all he'd experienced in the last week.

"Alien tech?"

"Sorry, did I say alien tech? I meant classified tech."

Sam that piece of knowledge away for later. "I'll meet you up there. There's one stop I have to make."

Dean seemed to know where he was going. "Without an escort? They won't let you in."

"I think you just want to follow me around."

Dean smirked as they turned the corner. _"La, lah lah lah laaaa..."_

"Please stop."

"_Close to you..."_

"I'll pay you."

.-.-.

"I just wanted to say thanks, for what you did." Sams' hands were in his pockets, because he didn't quite know what to do with them.

The shifter was leaning through the bars on his arms. "No problem." He glanced at the door. "He outside?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

He shrugged.

Sam looked around the cell. "So, what's going to happen to you?"

"They're deciding what to do with me."

"I could get you sent back to our world, if you want." It really was the least he could do.

The shifter shook his head. "Nah, I think I like it here better."

"Okay." That was all Sam had to say, so he turned to the door.

"Sam?"

He looked over at the shifter, who was suddenly serious. "Our 'verse, I don't know if it's the same here, but... You shouldn't forget about your brother. You shouldn't start thinking he's here when he's not. It'd be kinda... disrespectful or something. I dunno." He shrugged it off and returned to his cot.

Sam had no illusions of calling the Dean Winchester of this universe his brother – though he could very well be, given the chance – because he didn't want to supersede the memory of the brother he had, as the shifter suggested. What he had forgotten was _where_ his brother currently was. And he felt like a terrible person because of it.

"Thanks." Sam said.

"You already said that."

"Not for that," Sam replied, and left.

.-.-.

"So..." Jack started, swinging his arms together in an effort to deflect any manner of awkward conversation.

"O'Neill, were you not going to offer a suggestion to Sam Winchester?" Teal'c prompted.

"Right, thanks T." He turned back to the younger Winchester. "So, if this – well, not _this_ obviously – but if you encounter any stuff that seems a little..."

"Otherworldly?" Daniel supplied.

Jack clicked his fingers. "Yep, but literally." He paused, rethinking the sentence. "Other_planetary_... Look, if you come across slugs or guys who want to enslave mankind with flashing eyes-"

At this point Sam was thinking of demons, but wisely remained silent. Dean caught the look on his face though, and managed to come to the same conclusion. He covered his face behind his hand.

"And seemingly indestructible powers... what?"

"Nothing, sir," Carter replied, casting an innocent glance towards the ceiling. "Go on."

"Right... where was I?"

"I believe you were speaking needlessly, O'Neill."

Jack raised a finger as though his next words were going to contradict that statement. "No. No, I was telling Sam that if he ran into anything weird, our kind of weird, he should contact the SGC in this reality."

Sam smiled. "I'll be sure and do that."

"Good, good." Jack turned to Carter. "Is our number still the same...?"

"I'm sure I can figure it out." Sam answered.

"Good. Well, it was, uh, definitely an experience meeting you." He held out his hand which Sam shook.

When they parted, Carter did likewise and Teal'c clasped his hand in that manly warrior way he did that Jack felt made him look hardcore. They then turned to the remaining member of the group.

"Right, so we'll be..." Jack pointed to the mirror.

Letting Carter and Teal'c take the lead, Jack clapped Dean's shoulder on his way past. The gesture indicating that he'd let Dean have a few moments to say goodbye personally. Out loud he said, "You're filing the report on this one, Winchester."

Not really in a position to say no, Dean merely rolled his eyes. "One lecture."

Jack looked ready to argue, but then paused to consider the options. In the end he nodded and crossed through the mirror.

With Jack gone, that awkward silence finally descended. Neither brother looked each other in the face; a vain effort to prolong the inevitable.

Dean was the one that broke it in the end. "If there is one good thing about sudden deaths, it avoids chick-flick moments."

Sam laughed. After the past few days they knew the truth in that all too well. "Dean, I-"

Dean held up a hand to stop him. He had a strange look on his face. "I'm sorry, Sam."

The dull pulse in his leg reminded him as to why. "Hey, don't worry about it. Hazard of the job."

"No, I'm sorry we don't get along in my 'verse." He said. "I wish to hell I could fix it, but..." His eyes flickered down, unable to look at his brother any longer.

It was at this point that Sam realised that this was what he was apologising for back when he'd accidentally shot him. And even though this Dean was different to the one he knew – and Sam could already tell he was a hell of a lot closer now than when he'd first stepped through the mirror – it must really be eating away at him not to have the relationship with his Sam that he and Dean shared. Used to share.

The words seemed a little moot to say when it was clearly too late, but if Alterna-Dean apologised to him because he thought it would matter, then there was something he had to say as well.

"Hey Dean?" He waited until Dean looked up. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Dean looked confused for a second before it clicked. "Hey, it's okay. You tried, it's enough."

Sam frowned. "How do you know I tried?"

"Because," Dean smiled. "You're my brother."

There were no words to say to that, so Sam pulled him into a hug (in a purely manly way, Dean would insist to the guys watching on the other side of the mirror). After what seemed much longer than it was, they finally parted. Dean nodded, and Sam replied in turn. An unspoken agreement not to say goodbye, but to convey everything the word represented. Dean turned and left.

When he got to the mirror he paused and faced Sam one final time. Sam could see the water in his eyes, but didn't say anything because he was sure he looked the same.

"Take care, Sammy."

He reached out and touched the mirror.

.-.-.

Aside from the items Stargate Command had assured them weren't cursed, Bobby had managed to relocate all of John's toxic waste to a more secure – or terminating – location. It wasn't easy, but over the month and a half since the ordeal with the mirror he'd taken care of it. Only two remained; one that needed a solstice for the cleansing ritual to take effect, and the other...

"For God's sake Sam, quit staring at that thing, will ya?"

"I'm not, I'm just..."

Bobby softened. "Son, he ain't coming back. It ain't his world. 'Sides, he's got his own brother."

"He's dead. The other me."

"Still his brother."

It was a heavy statement, and Sam felt the weight of each of those words. "Yeah...

"Yeah," He echoed again, having finally reached a conclusion. "Bobby, you think that-"

"Take as long as you want."

"Thanks Bobby."

The kid was smiling like he was about to cry. Bobby couldn't have that. If Sam cried, then there was a chance that Bobby would cry. And Robert Singer wasn't about to sit around crying like a little girl. "Well, go on then."

Sam chuckled and stood up. He slung his duffel over his shoulder and glanced around the room to make sure he didn't forget anything. "I'll keep in touch."

"Ya damn right you'll keep in touch. You Winchesters can only walk so far before you step in some serious shit."

"That's some pretty interesting imagery there, Bobby."

Bobby levelled him a look. "Don't you have someplace to be?"

"Yeah, I do." Sam gave Bobby a quick hug before leaving Singer Auto Salvage, and the state of South Dakota.

.-.-.

"So, uhh, you're dead... You're dead and I'm standing here talking to a piece of stone with your name on it." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "This is ridiculous."

He looked up at the clear blue sky. Not a cloud in sight to distract him. The cemetery was as well-maintained and peaceful, and Dean felt out of place standing there in the middle of the day in his shirt and jeans. He felt like he should be wearing a suit, or at least his dress uniform.

"Scew it." He glanced back at the tombstone. "Look, you and me, we never really got on. Mainly because I thought you were an annoying know-it-all brat but, uhh, you turned out alright.

"Well, not _you _you, but another you. You were still a pansy... and I got no idea what I'm saying."

He threw his hands up and shook his head. Thank God no one else was around to witness this.

"The other Sam, he turned out to be an alright guy, and I guess what I'm saying is that I never really talked to you after you went to college, so for all I know that could have been you too, I guess. And even if you weren't - if you were still the smarmy Joe College-type - that's okay too, 'cos underneath it all you probably still would have been That Sam." He shrugged. "I guess I'm sorry I never got the chance to know for sure."

He absently thumbed some dust off his nose, because that's what men do when they're not crying. And not trying to clear their nasal airway from all the build-up that accumulates when they're busy not crying.

Dean looked down at the grave of his brother Sam Winchester, 1983-2005, Loving Husband, Beloved Son, and finally took it all in.

When he was ready to leave, he gave the marker a gentle fist-bump, as though they had been brothers all those years, and not two strangers who lived under the same house.

"See ya, Sammy."

.-.-.

"Hey, I know you can't hear me, but what the Hell.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Sorry I couldn't save you, couldn't find a way out of your deal. I'm sorry I let you die on my watch.

"More importantly, I'm sorry I Iet you stay dead. I know when I died you didn't hesitate to try and bring me back, and that's what I'm gonna do - whatever it takes. And you can bitch and moan about it all you like, but I'm okay with that. Besides," He smiled, "I owe you."

Sam appraised the unassuming cross that marked Dean's final current resting place. "See you soon, Dean."


	18. Stage 5c

Stage V/C Moving On  
(_a.k.a._ _Epilogue_)

* * *

"Colonel, are you sure you want to do this? I understand that you may be experiencing a rough time recently, with the situation involving your brother."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That was over a year ago."

"Really?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "It doesn't seem that long ago."

Dean shook his head. Despite the star on his uniform, General Jack O'Neill was still the same at heart.

"In all seriousness though," Jack kicked his legs under the chair to slide it closer to the desk. He leaned his elbows on the surface and fixed Dean with a concerned look. "This is pretty much a one-way trip. You sure you want to do this?"

"Ket to kick ass in a whole new galaxy?" He made a face. "Nah, I can't see the appeal in that at all. Unless there's a promotion involved."

Jack smiled. "We promote you and I don't think they'll let you leave Earth."

Dean frowned, and opened his mouth to speak. Jack beat him to it,

"Well, that's settled. I imagine Colonel Sumner will be pleased to hear you're on board."

"Marshall requested me?" A gruelling and gruesome four-hour boxing match sprang to mind. "The lengths that man will go to get a case of beer..."

Jack leaned back on his chair and threw his arms behind his head. "Personally I'd stow it in with the supplies, you never know whether you'll get the chance to have another."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Well..." Jack stretched and stood. Dean did likewise. "I think that about covers it. You want to pass on the message to your team for me?"

"Are you foisting off your duties on me?"

Jack waggled a finger. "I'm a General, it's called delegating."

"You used to be cool."

"I still am." Jack asserted. "Now, mush. Some of us have work to do."

Jack sat back down in a way that left Dean with no reservations as to which one of them it was.

.-.-.

When he left the meeting, he found Major Stanson waiting in the corridor. They fell into step as he turned the corner.

"So, are you taking the mission?"

"Yep."

"Hmm. Well, I'll be sure to send along a fruit basket. It won't be the same without you here."

"You're coming with."

"What? No I'm not."

"Yeah you are."

"With all due respect, I can't. I'm allergic to other galaxies, and, uhh... you."

Dean stopped and looked at him.

"Achoo?"

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Sanders," Stanson muttered just loud enough for Dean to hear before he resumed walking.

Winchester let out a bark of laughter and followed. "You'd be lost without me, bitch."

When Stanson replied Dean forgot for a second that he joking with his best friend, and instead imagined that Sam was there, smiling in a fleeting moment of sibling camaraderie. The thought gave him pause for a moment, but it soon passed as he smiled at Stanson's rejoinder. He wasn't Sam, but he was family all the same. In that instant Dean could catalogue all Paul and Sams' similarities and differences and just be happy that in the end, he was able to call them both brother.

End.

* * *

Random facts that you might be interested to know:

AlternaSam and Jess weren't actually married at the time of his death. But she loved him, and wanted to make sure there was something a little _more_ than "Loving fiancé" on his gravestone. Unfortunately her and Mary+John's combined efforts couldn't come up with something more imaginative like, "She saved the world... A lot."

The SGC offered the shapeshifter a position, and Dean had a talk with him over the use of his face (I have written).

After some needless run-around, Jack managed to find the SGC in the SPN 'verse, hence the road spikes and the fact he and Teal'c beat Sam to the mirror (also written). He did this under the proviso that he would explain everything after the crisis, which he did... only to his SGC. SPN's SGC has no idea that Sam has a Quantum Mirror.

The liver transplant did affect Dean (other than the rapid healing), though the symptoms took a while to emerge.

Someone pointed out that Dean was too young to be a Colonel, which is technically true. There is an explanation for this, which an excerpt of the sequel mentioned below;

I'm considering a 'verse for AlternaDean in the Pegasus Galaxy. Though Sam isn't in it, it will have Sheppard, Stanson, and a slight deviation on events due to Dean's presence.

I'm also considering a sequel for this, in which AlternaDean reappears after Dean has been brought back from Hell. Snippets from both this and the aforementioned story, are posted in the next chapter. They won't be uploaded until they're complete though (to ensure regular uploads), and finally;

This story was intended to explore on the stages of grief (hence the title), through both Sam and Dean's different reactions to loss. It was my intention from the start to have Sam finally come to terms with Dean's death, in order to resolve to do something about it. In my mind Sam's story now slips back into canon, with him meeting up with Ruby in time for the beginning of season 4, which is why there's no epilogue for him (we know what he did). Remember, all this took place in the span of a week.

And thank you for reading. Not everyone, just you.


	19. Coming Soon

Coming Soon

* * *

**Excerpt #1 - "Through the Looking Glass"**

When Dean entered General Landry's office, he was a little surprised to see Jack O'Neill sitting behind Hank's desk. Even though it had once belonged to him, Dean couldn't recall an occasion in which he'd actually seen the man working. You know, proper general stuff. And it seemed a little suspicious that he would start now that he'd retired from said position.

"Winchester, glad you could make it." He was wearing a shirt, jeans and that leather jacket all the air force men seemed to have. Dean suspected they were given out when they enlisted, along with a pair of aviation sunglasses. The casual dress code made Dean unsure whether or not he should be calling him General.

Adopting his usual fail-safe with such circumstances, Dean avoided it altogether.

"As opposed to...?"

Jack paused. "Well, I imagine this conversation wouldn't be as interesting if I was having it with myself."

"Should I be worried?"

"Nah," Jack waved a hand. "Sit down, Dean."

"Okay."

When they were both seated, Jack drummed his fingers along the desk. When he caught Dean looking at him he stopped, clasping his hands together. Unfortunately it only served to have Jack tapping his hands on the desk like a child playing nutcracker with the furniture.

"You want me to come back?" Dean offered.

"No, no, I just... thought we should talk." Now his palms were lying flat on the desk, almost daring to start drumming up a beat. Dean couldn't believe it. Jack really was just a big kid.

"Anything in particular, or are we just shooting the breeze?"

Jack's mouth blew up with air before he let it out like a balloon. "I dunno... your file, maybe?"

Dean nodded. He suspected he knew where this was going. "Specifically the part that lists my rank, by any chance?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that."

Dean leaned back in his chair, the epitome of relaxed. "Shoot."

He couldn't think of an easy way to say it, so Jack just blurted it out. "You're a Major."

"Yeah."

Jack grasped for the words. "But... How?"

"Well, back in '02 I was promoted from Captain-"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Shut up Winchester. I mean why aren't you a Colonel?"

Dean bit his lip. "Because that's not up to me?"

Jack threw him a look, and Dean straightened up. He figured he owed Jack the truth.

"It started off as a joke when Bert, Paul, Bill and I were running cavalry on that mission to PX-299..." When Jack nodded that he was with him so far, Dean continued. "After that the guys swapped my badge over and it kinda took on a life of its own. No one asked, and I didn't facilitate it in any way so..." He shrugged the rest.

"You do realise how much trouble you can get into by doing this?"

Dean opened his arms. "Do you have any evidence that gives you the impression I'm pretending to be a Colonel?"

Jack stopped. His BDU's only listed his last name, and now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't recall Dean ever referring to himself as a Colonel. Other people had, but Jack couldn't fault him for that. He could reprimand him for not correcting them, but that was a weak case. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, he remembered the last ceremony in which he had seen Winchester in his dress uniform. It clearly displayed his rank as a Major; something which a few of the men had made jokes about slumming and dry cleaning. Jack was kicking himself for not realising the reason behind the conveniently placed tears in his uniform, and had to wonder how long he'd gotten away with rankless clothes by pretending he'd just returned from a mission.

Dean pulled out his name badge from his pocket and tossed it across the desk. It had faded through time and use, but the words "COL. SANDERS" could still be read clearly.

Jack started tapping it against his palm as he trailed off in thought. Something wasn't right. How was it possible something that could easily be proven wrong have such a strong belief cementing it into fact? Jack had believed it. And if it wasn't for the matter at hand, he never would have looked at Winchester's file and gone on thinking he was a colonel.

Speaking off matters at hand, if the IOA - or even anyone outside the room - found out that Dean Winchester was not a colonel... Well, he didn't want to think about it. Which, in the eyes of Jack O'Neill, made the answer very simple.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel Winchester."

Dean blinked. "I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep there for a moment."

"Look, when Colonel Sumner died you were accepted as the ranking officer on the Atlantis expedition." Dean nodded. "But since that thing with Weir-"

"-That wasn't her fault!"

"I'm not saying it is, I'm just saying that the IOA have... changed their minds about having her in charge - and she was their civilian choice - they're willing to concede trialling a military leader."

Dean's expression darkened at the mention of the IOA's decision. "So what, they're just throwing her out?"

"No, no they said she could stay. She just can't..."

"Have a position of power?" Dean finished.

"Exactly." Jack noticed Dean's glowering and hurried on to distract him. "Anyway, the point is that they're willing to let you take the top job over there, because they think you're a Colonel. Problem is, the second they open your file and see that you aren't, and realise that you've been lying about it all this time-"

"-I haven't-"

"-Doesn't matter, they're gonna turf you, Weir, and probably instate someone completely new. And I'll get a long and boring lecture."

Dean thought on this. "So, your solution is to promote me?"

"No one could have predicted what happened to Sheppard and Weir, and anyone else would probably banish them to some barren planet or what have you, but you - you're a good guy, Dean. You'll do the right thing."

Dean was proud of the compliment. Out loud he mimicked, " 'What have you'?"

Jack ignored him. "Are we on the same page here?"

"You want to pretend I've always been a Colonel because it would make a lot of things easier." His head filled in why this was happening and he added. "Though I gotta be honest with you Jack; as far as I'm concerned, Elizabeth is still in charge in Atlantis. And unless she does something drastic, I'm inclined to let it stay that way."

Jack held up a hand. "I did not hear that. In fact, I haven't heard any of the conversation that has taken place in this office."

"Then why am I here?"

"You were called in so I could inform you of your official appointment as Atlantis' new commanding officer."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And that took ten minutes?"

"Well, you are kinda slow. I had to repeat myself, and use graphs."

"How would you graph that?"

Jack shrugged. "Carter would figure out a way."

* * *

**Excerpt #2 - "The Road Not Taken"**

"It's good to see you again, Sammy."

Sam tore his eyes from his screen for the briefest of seconds to acknowledge his brother. "Just set it down on the bed, I'll grab it in a minute."

In his inattention he missed the smile fade from Dean's face. "Sam?"

"Yeah Dean?"

The smile was gone now. "I guess that means you're not surprised to see me."

The comment drew Sam's focus away from his laptop. True, it was his brother that stood before him, but there was something different, something missing. It took him a moment to realise what it was: sadness. Dean no longer had the tortured look that had clouded his eyes since his return from Hell. He was weary, but it was the kind associated with a soldier that had seen and done too much. The old Dean.

_Wait a minute, soldier..._ Sam regarded him anew and cursed his obliviety. He was dressed in military uniform, all the way to his shoes. And while it was black this time instead of green, and the patches on his arms were different, there was still an unmistakeable resemblance to the last time Sam had seen him. "Dean."

Not knowing him well enough to understand Sam's thought process, Dean's brow furrowed slightly. "Yeah. Don't tell me you'd forgotten about me already," He joked.

_Kind of hard to when you're out getting dinner. _Sam snuck a glance at the door. "What are you doing here?"

Dean raised an eyebrow an ignored the question in favour of his own. "Hey Dean, how are you? It's been a while – Really Sam? Now that you mention it..."

Sam waved him off. "Okay, I'm sorry. It's just... well, you know."

"Yeah." He did. He hadn't really expected to run into Sam after their last encounter, either. Especially considering they'd destroyed the mirror.

"How did you get here?"

As open-minded as his brother-from-another-reality was, Dean doubted he could say "In a spaceship!" without explaining a few things first. So he laughed it away, "That's kinda why I'm here actually. I, ahh... need your help."

Sams' eyes flicked back to the door again before he made his decision. "Listen, there's something I have to tell you."

When he wasn't really forthcoming in with what that something was, Dean followed Sam's gaze to the door, and then swept the room. His mouth formed a small 'O'. "Oh. Is she hot?"

"Who?" It took him a minute to realise the implications of waiting for someone in a motel like the one he was in. Thing was, that conclusion was so far from the truth that he spluttered, "Oh, no – _God_ no!"

Dean blinked. "Just so we're clear, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was a woman."

"What? No, it's complicated."_ How the hell was he going to explain this? 'You're not dead!' – It was a Monty Python skit waiting to happen._

Dean however, was hearing an entirely different conversation. "Oh God, is it a man?"

"Dean!"

Dean raised his hands. "Not that I'm judging. It's your life-"

"Dean, just shut up a minute and let me explain." Sam interrupted, trying to gather his thoughts.

"You don't have to explain anything, Sam."

"It's you, you idiot!"

Dean froze. His mouth opened and closed a few times before it scrunched up in confusion. "..._What?_"

Sam held up his hands as if to calm him. "Look, I can explain everything, just put down the gun down."

Dean didn't remember drawing his weapon. A quick glance at his side-holster confirmed it. He was about to ask Sam how much he'd smoked before he had shown up when he noticed that Sam wasn't even looking at him. When he heard the _click_ of a safety disengaging behind him, he knew why. Slowly he raised his hands and turned around.

Holding a gun to his head was someone he never expected to see. And for good reason. "Hey, no offense – but aren't you supposed to be dead?" _Maybe this isn't the reality I thought it was. Awkwarrrrd._

His doppelganger ignored him. "Sam?"

Sam started edging closer, as though to protect Dean from... well, Dean. "Dean, don't shoot him."

"Why not?"

"He's you."

He kept the gun trained on his double. "No, see of all the people in this room that would enter the Me Pageant, I think I'd win."

"Tell that to Dolly Parton," Dean muttered, eliciting a glare from himself. Though it was the wrong time to say it, Dean did silently admit that he could be pretty damn intimidating, and now fully understood why McKay avoided him like the plague.

He watched as the other Dean – this reality's Dean – The Not-Quite-Dead Dean stepped back so he had both Sam and himself in his line of sight, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as the barrel shifted to point at Sam.

"How do I know you're Sam?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're an ass."

"Oh, we both know that's nowhere near good enough. I'm friggin' awesome."

"Not that I want the gun pointed at me again, but can I second that statement?"

While the two Dean's sized each other up, Sam used the distraction to slip retrieve the silver knife hidden under one of his research books. "Dean." Both looked up, but he was focused on the one holding the gun.

"Not really helping your case there, Sam." He nodded to the weapon.

Instead of answering, Sam very slowly raised his arm and drew the blade across his skin. Biting down a gasp of pain, he locked eyes with his brother and raised an eyebrow.

Dean got the message and eased his grip on his colt. The other Dean spoke up,

"Uh Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

"Shapeshifters and Revenants are susceptible to silver," Sam explained.

"Oh." He frowned. "That actually explains a lot."

"Sam, remember that explanation you were gonna give?" Dean pointed the gun in his double's direction as though Sam had forgotten.

Sam sent him a look and Dean got the message, putting his gun away. Sam could tell he was still agitated though, so he took a breath. "When you died..."

"You cloned me." Dean stared at his twin in realisation.

"What?"

"You went all Sixth Day on my ass."

Sam looked to the other Dean for help, but he seemed quite content in just watching. Sam should've known better. "Dude, you do realise how crazy that sounds, right?"

"Then what?"

"He's from another reality."

At Sam's apparent recognition and explanation, Colonel Winchester internally sighed that he had been right the first time. He was in the right reality.

"Another reality?" Dean echoed.

"Yeah."

Dean held up a hand, "Clone." And then the other, "Alternate Reality." He weighed them for a second before turning to Sam. "_Who's_ crazy?"

"Given our line of work?" Sam pointed out.

"Fine." Dean dropped his hands and turned back to appraise... well, himself. "So, you're sure?"

"Pretty damn," Sam affirmed.

"And you met how?" Dean asked.

"One of Dad's curse boxes had a mirror that accesses alternate realities."

Dean sighed. "Okay, this is a little Twilight Zone for me, but okay." He turned to his double. "So, what are you doing here, you gorgeous sonuvabitch?"

"That's a good question," he replied, and damn if it wasn't weird hearing his own voice. "But I got something I wanna throw out there before we get down to it." He pointed to his very much alive self and said, "How am I not dead?"


End file.
